The Pureblood Coup
by Pensieve Plotter
Summary: Substantial editing! Voldemort's ascension to power in Deathly Hallows. After Scrimgeour's fall, a massive party at Malfoy Manor is attended by Death Eaters. Bellatrix is jealous of Narcissa and Voldemort engages his army. Wizarding high politics abounds.
1. Dark Side of the Moon

To Everyone: The plot of this story is complete. However, over the coming months I am doing major revamping on this story. There will be a couple of dozen new scenes added into the chapters as well as a couple of completely new chapters. Also plenty of new details added in and old details altered. Plus extension of several scenes. I will be doing this by one chronological chapter at a time. So, for example once chapter one is done being fixed, I will put a note on the summary that says so. The changes are substantial - I expect to make this story go from 90,000 words to at least 120,000 words!!!!!

THE NEW SCENE is in Dark Side of the Moon 5, however I edited this entire chapter and added altered and new snippets to each section of the chapter. Hope you enjoy the changes. In the next chapter there will be SIX, yes 6 new scenes that are totally necesary to the story.

This is far from PWP. I would love your review. I mean really I would love it. I worked extremely hard on this...It took almost a year to complete and tons of research and thought, so, please, please, leave a review or at least a rating! Even if you don't get that far in, i'd be nice. Now...because there are so many warnings, here is my summary:

Set to show the coup at the Ministry of Magic during Deathly Hallows. After the government fell, a wild celebration of the coup was held at Malfoy Manor. The Death Eaters commemorate the start of Lord Voldemort's reign surrounded by extravagence and frivolity whilst others suffer. The Malfoy's reputation is suffering, and Bellatrix is dangerously envious of her sister. The Dark Lord engages his army within the realm of Wizarding high politics. 

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THE PUREBLOOD COUP

**  
"In darkroom of your eye the moonly mind**

somersaults to counterfeit eclipse;

bright angels black out over logic's land

under shutter of their handicaps."

- Sylvia Plath, "Sonnet to Satan"

AND:

"Every woman adores a Fascist."

- Sylvia Plath, "Daddy"

Chapter One: Dark Side of the Moon

The last rays of light disappeared, as a blood-red sun slipped beneath the horizon. The sky turned indigo, black shadows cast onto a magnificent manor house.

A hooded figure gazed fiercely towards the horizon, standing on a balcony, diamond paned windows sparkling behind him. Looking upon the sunset, he was not appreciative of its grandeur. Rather, the red eyes blazed like burning coals, his dark mind full of grandiosity over what the near future would bring him.

"It shall be done…" Lord Voldemort had whispered it to himself, although another was standing in his wake.

Slowly, he turned back from the view to the witch watching with a blank expression on his serpentine face. "They should be here in a moment, Bella…"

Voldemort stepped inside to a study room, and immediately went over to the lectern. Bellatrix's dark brown eyes followed his every movement.

Books and other decorative items had been carelessly removed to a far corner. In another corner, Voldemort's great snake, Nagini curled herself around a gray skeleton, and over the lectern, a quill scratched across a piece of parchment, apparently of its own volition. Voldemort had previously dictated to it some of his plans, and now the quill was making additional copies.

Seeing it was finished, he lifted the quill and rolled the parchment into a scroll, laying it beside eleven identical copies on the stone table, where there was a single guttering candle. One copy for each of the ten department heads and another for the new minister and finally, one for himself was made.

Just then, heavy footsteps sounded from outside the padlocked door. It heaved open with a burst of green light, a spell unlocking it.

Three wizards entered the study. In unison they acknowledged the presence of their master, with the standard salute: left forearms raised to a ninety-degree angle, exposing the Dark Mark. Solemnly they chanted, "Hail the Dark Lord."

One of the men named Yaxley glanced inquisitively to his superior. He wondered what would make the Dark Lord summon him. He had already succeeded in putting the Imperius curse under Pius Thickness after all. And Yaxley's friends from the ministry, fellow Death Eaters, Selwyn and Travers remained hunched at his side.

"As you shall replace Thicknesse as head of Magical Law Enforcement, Yaxley, it will be your task to see these policy changes are implemented. Do not fail me." Voldemort, with his wand, indicated the pile of scrolls.

Yaxley replied dutifully, "No, My lord. I can review the material immediately."

Voldemort lingered for a moment, the red eyes darting to the corner where his pet was still slithering. He stole over to her and bent down, his spidery hands grazing the gray frame Nagini had curled herself around. It was the last remains of Alastor Moody, the Auror whom Voldemort killed a week ago. Since then, he'd fed the corpse to his snake, and nor had he bothered to remove the skeleton. The Dark Lord rather liked it.

Voldemort's hands clamped deftly around the skull and his Death Eaters watched in silent awe. There was a blue something like a precious gem lodged in the socket. With some difficulty, Voldemort removed it with his bare hands. It made sense that it was stuck in there as Moody had had problems removing it, ever since Barty wore the swiveling glass eye.

Finally, Voldemort excised the object. He looked at Nagini, who remained on top of the remnants of the corpse. He intoned, somehow whispering tenderly in parseltongue, almost feeling affection for her, "I will have another treat for you soon, my dear…"

And Voldemort sprung up and at once pocketed the eye in his robes. He surveyed his men watching patiently, and spoke again, "On the eve of my greatest victory to date, and with the recent murder of Dumbledore, our opportunity is ripe for action." And with a firm ominous note Voldemort continued, "Come tomorrow, the ministry...will be mine."

The others nodded toward Voldemort affirmatively.

Except Yaxley, determined to receive praise, confidently expelled, "Yes – My lord....All department heads are under control now. I think it easy to accomplish the coup as they have recently turned against Scrimgeour."

"Good…that is exactly as I demanded of it, Yaxley. We shall overthrow the ministry and once we get to Scrimgeour, I shall be the one to assassinate the ex-Auror."

"Are you moving out into the open, My lord?," asked Selwyn, unable to contain surprise.

"The ministry is a complex, yet disorganized bureaucracy, Selwyn. While I am to be supreme authority over the British magical government, seeking to purge all the putrid ones for us, it is only a start before I extend around the globe.

"In the beginning they shall fear for their friends and families. Preventing them from speaking out or resisting, fearful that Lord Voldemort is behind it. All the better…for we therefore have time to stabilize the new order."

"...On the matter of Harry Potter…," Voldemort began, unpredictably changing the subject.

The Death Eaters shifted nervously on their heels, scared they would be blamed for some blunder concerning the boy.

"Today happens to be his coming of age, thus losing his Trace. By some twisted miracle Potter made it to adulthood. He is not to survive much longer, as we shall hunt him down. You know my orders…capture but do not kill Potter. It is I who destroys him."

Yaxley's blunt features wobbled and he dared question, "And what of the Order of the Phoenix, master?"

"After the coup you are all to track down the Order members. With the objective of finding Harry Potter. You are to seek out all his connections….Meanwhile, I shall be elsewhere..."

Travers asked, "Do you require anyone to accompany you, My lord?,"

"No…I shall be abroad and I wish to be alone. Spread the word to the others that you are not to attempt communication, unless it is of the utmost importance. "

Nobody argued or even dared look curious, for it was obvious they were not to know where he was going.

The padlocked door glinted green again at the casting of the Alohomora spell. Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa stood on the threshold. Narcissa clutching her husband's arm, eyes downcast.


	2. Dark Side of the Moon 2

Continuation of

Continuation of...

Chapter One: Dark Side of the Moon

Voldemort looked into the steely, cold gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy. "What is it, Lucius?," was questioned by him lazily.

Lucius stepped into the meager light that the guttering, poisonous candle was giving off. He had to practically drag Narcissa, whose feet would not cooperate. They could see how Lucius's gray eyes no longer held that calculating glint they had once before. They were sunken, dark circles under them. His long hair no longer stylishly kept, but straggly.

Despite his appearance, Malfoy managed to keep up airs, his voice still carrying that purr of aristocratic pride: "My lord… my wife and I have a proposition to bequest of you in regards to our only son, Draco."

Voldemort's scarlet eyes flashed with a brief instant of understanding. He thought he knew. He thought he saw what they wanted. Lucius waited for his master to speak first, his jaw set determinedly.

"Go on…," Voldemort beckoned, lacking affect.

"We ask that you grant Draco the privilege to return for his last year at Hogwarts so that he may be a fully qualified wizard. Please, My lord."

The tips of Voldemort's long fingers were brought together in a diplomatic gesture. Voldemort paused for a moment, marsheling his many thoughts. Then in a raspy bark he spoke, "Yaxley, Selwyn, Travers…leave us!"

The three Death Eaters who were not currently residents of Malfoy Manor departed, bowing dramatically at their master and with a whooshing of cloaks they were gone.

"I understand the precariousness of the situation of your family dilemma. Draco's future is significant to me, but this is in the sense of his service. As a Death Eater, he must abide by my laws. He cannot follow my orders while at school, as was certainly proven so last year. Therefore, Draco is not to return for another year, despite his status of Pureblood."

Bellatrix glowered at her sister's husband and broke in, " The time has come for sacrifice. Profess your undying devotion for our Lord at once, Lucius!"

"But assure me my son will always have the protection of your good graces?! My lord…I beg you!"

Narcissa had beseechingly screamed it, and for the first time ever, looked at Lord Voldemort, full in the skull-white face. In a second, she averted her blue eyes back to the floor.

Lucius, Bellatrix, and Voldemort regarded the slender and slight Narcissa Malfoy in varying mixtures of shock at her outburst.

"Ah, Narcissa. I shall grant you that peace of mind within reason...When it is necessary."

Narcissa again looked up at Voldemort, relief spreading on her thin face. The lip-less mouth of the Dark Lord responded, with a slow creepy smile directed only at Lucius's wife.

But Lucius was not as trusting as his wife. He had seen how unequitable the Dark Lord could be, when made to give up his wand with Voldemort's reminder of how he had obtained Lucius's liberty. But now, Lucius's wand was broken, even if it was by accident, and the Dark Lord did not even ask their prisoner, Ollivander to make a replacement. And so, Malfoy had finally learnt his lesson: Voldemort would always require the better bargain, there was no fair deal to be made with the Dark Lord.

Malfoy demanded his voice inflecting hoarseness, "Forgive my brashness, My lord…Have we not allowed you use of our property for your headquarters? I would appreciate your clear explanation, and not an ambiguous promise. How much more must I prove my loyalty, if only for an exchange in Draco's safety?!"

Bellatrix huffed angrily, her ice-cold hands closing around her wand, tempted to curse her brother in-law. Voldemort contained an inner surge of his own anger, the snake-like features becoming taut.

"This is not the question of your loyalty, Lucius. You…as former man of the house have chosen to bequeath me that title, of course. It comes down to Naricissa's chance to surrender her allegiance. And when your wife proves herself, I shall extend Draco reasonable confidence his master holds him in continuous esteem."

Narcissa stood by her husband, looking like she was struggling to get up the courage to speak again.

"What could my wife possibly do for you my Lord? She does not have a Dark Mark, you cannot expect the Death Eaters to accept her as one of us."

Bellatrix nodded in agreement to Lucius, and she pulled her sleeve up, planting a smooch on the skull of her own Dark Mark.

Voldemort did not answer Lucius's query at once. The gleaming red eyes drifted, until he was regarding Narcissa with a strange curiosity. Naricssa finally looked up at Lucius adoringly, almost smiling, thinking how their son would be granted autonomous protection.

As if magnetically drawn, Voldemort practically catapulted into Narcissa's space. "Ah, yes…," he remarked. Then touched her blonde hair that was almost silverly, as it was going gray from the stress of the war, and she had not dyed it. Voldemort stroked some of the strands, and Narcissa's quaint frame shuddered. She took a step back instinctively and then halted.

"A little spell in the tower will do. She did not hold a stint in Azkaban like you did Lucius, or you Bellatrix. Instead, she is to prove faith in her husband's master through becoming my personal sex slave. Not to worry, little lady of the house…It is only temporary…." He patted Narcissa's head fondly like she were a child. "Narcissa shall keep company for the waste…or as the Wizarding world calls them…the Veelas."

Lucius seemed to crumple into a heap. He was like a sad old man deprived of the fruits that had once made him happy. Lucius had cheated on his wife already, getting to pleasure a Veela a few times since last year. Voldemort had arranged one of the Death Eater's to kidnap Veela, to be used as rewards for the Death Eaters. Voldemort himself had not bothered with the Veelas at all.

Narcissa, meanwhile was resolute, but passive, her voice trailing away meekly, "Obedient, I am… to protect my only son…" She already felt a million miles away, like she was no longer apart of herself.

Bellatrix's eyes narrowed so far, nobody could see them. Revulsion appeared on her face, pouting those dangerously red lips.

She eyed Voldemort, batting her spidery lashes. "Precedence would make it rather difficult for intimacy with Cissy, My lord."

Voldemort looked unperturbed but focused on his whore of a Death Eater calmly. "The Malfoys have bestowed their home on me, Bellatrix. I am simply returning Lucius's hospitality by giving his wife a gift. Narcissa will learn how special it is to experience pleasure from the Dark Lord."

Even though it contradicted what Voldemort really thought of it all, he acted like it was an honor for Narcissa. In reality, he was going to make sure the Malfoy family as a whole would be humiliated somehow.

"Their home…is my home, My lord…." Bellatrix answered, scrunching her brows pensively. She seemed to be thinking hard for a solution to the disappointing circumstance.


	3. Dark Side of the Moon 3

Continuation of

Continuation of…

Chapter One: Dark Side of the Moon

After several seconds, in which Voldemort had went back to regarding Narcsissa, Bellatrix exploded with cackles of laughter. She exulted, "Master! We must honor you with a formal celebration after the coup! There is no higher pleasure to have your presence of- of glory. We must expound our worship through a lavish celebration of your victory!"

Voldemort did not respond. For the first time in awhile he was indecisive over an idea to be implemented. Breathless and imploring Bellatrix waited for his response. 

Allowing the celebration, which would be held on Saturday, the second of August, worked well as it was the weekend and the ministry had normally been closed on Saturday. And Voldemort knew intuitively without thinking how he wanted the wider wizarding population to believe all was normal. But this party would mean for himself how he would have to stop looking for the unbeatable wand, which he was so keen for he could not lose a night. But maybe, by then he would have it in his possession. There was also the issue that Voldemort did not care for a party even in his name. It was a trivial waste of time according to him. There would be no ridiculous cohorting of Death Eaters when they should be serving him purposefully. About to object, he realized there would be advantages. After the coup he could announce some of the new arrangements to them and have several private strategy talks during the party, including what to do with Hogwarts and how the new Headmaster he had in mind should exert his power. Several family and friends of the Death Eaters could be asked for, and it could even be possible to find out where Gregorovitch was, if wizards from the Durmstrang area in the most Northern tip of Europe came along. Generally, the victory party would serve to concentrate Voldemort's power over the region further.

"Yes…this pleases me very much, Bella. We shall have, what is to be a ceremonial collaboration after our success. Lucius and Narcissa," Voldemort turned his head. "are in charge, making the plans to honor me. I am sure they will do it justice…and you, Narcissa. I make you Queen of the night. All for the reason that they shall all recognize you as lady of the house."

The pupils of Bellatrix's eyes had dilated from the excitement, and that the Dark Lord had approved of her, allowing the party to happen. But in an instant, her expression went back to jealous fury. Shouldn't she be the Queen? The woman who had thought of it?

Bellatrix moved closer to Voldemort, and simultaneously Narcissa shrank if possible to looking even more small and insignificant.

"Bella…you are my top lieutenant," he lied, as he now considered Severus Snape to be in that position. "You are the most faithful…but fair Narcissa is much more a queen than your dark exterior could ever be."

Bellatrix's face suffused into an ugly, blotchy red at these words, her mouth pursed like she had tasted something sour.

"But My lord…I am the first born Pureblood of my generation…in the noble and most ancient house of Black. Cissy was only ever the baby. She does not understand what it is to be your Queen…," Bellatrix paused then added sarcastically, "She'll spend the whole duration doing her favorite pastime: dancing!"

"Enough childish complaints, Bella….Yet it so happens, Narcissa dancing is a splendid suggestion. Yes…At some point, she is to dance with the Veelas."

Narcissa at these words clutched her throat, nauseated and barely drawing a breath. Lord Voldemort might have asked her to attend the occasion naked. Her thoughts were on how the entire wizarding artistocracy of Great Britain would witness Lucius's wife being compared to the less than human Veelas! For Narcissa, the whole night was sure to be a nightmare.

Lucius expelled an incredulous sneer at this order, for it would embarrass him equally. Voldemort appraised Lucius, hiding his satisfaction that the man was not sitting well with the plans for his wife.

"But you know, Lucius of the trials and sacrifices one must make for, all to ensure my reign. Something you desire even more so than you desire your wife. I would think this experience to discipline you. Your desire for my reign surpasses mere sexual gratification through having your Pureblood mate, Narcissa. Does it not, Lucius?"

"Yes - My lord, of course," Lucius said through gritted teeth.

"Very well…we have prepared for the coup and this honorary celebration in my name. Lucius you are to spread the news to the Death Eaters over this occasion to come this Saturday evening at my summoning. Tell them to create portkeys to enter the perimeter of the property, as they may bring appropriate guests who will need them."

Without warning or farewell, Voldemort stalked out of the study and towards the Malfoy's master bedroom. He had taken over Lucius and Narcissa's bedchamber in the prior month. Bellatrix followed a second later, to retreat to her own privacy. Now that Voldemort was gone, Narcissa collapsed into Lucius, sobbing.

Please review. This story is my masterpiece.


	4. Dark Side of the Moon 4

Continuation of

THE FOLLOWING IS A NEW SCENE:

Note: There will be new scenes of higher intellectual quality later. This happens to be one of the porn ones. Most of them are not porn though.

Please Review!

Continuation of….

Chapter One: Dark Side of the Moon

At the same time as Voldemort left the study, Yaxley, Selwyn and Travers were just making it past the extensive gardens of the Malfoy's property situated behind the palace-sized house. After the three Death Eaters had been dismissed they had decided they would go and stop for some amusing entertainment before they called it a night.

Yaxley boldly swung open a little wrought-iron black gate between the bushes to reveal a barren pathway. To their right, the three men could see a lake, shadowy in the twilight atmosphere. Several canoes were in the lake, going into the connected river in the opposite direction, lights fading from sight, as they slipped out of view over the horizon. Straight ahead was a pointed lone tower, which they approached as they made their way up the short distance of the pathway.

Moments later, they had stepped inside a low doorway, immersing themselves into morbid darkness.

"Lumos," the three Death Eaters muttered and their wands were like flashlights, shedding light for them to make their way up the winding stairs, their boots creaking ominously as they ascendedd. They past several other landings on their way each floor reminiscent of a medieval torture chamber: assortments of whips and scourges were everywhere, along with chains and even a gallows. Soon they came to the summit of the tower, in which there was a pointed roof, at a low ceiling, barely over six feet high.

The men shone their lights downward for in front of them, reaching their knees was two creatures dressed in loin cloths that looked more like overalls, each carrying old-fashioned lamps. It was the female House-elf, Mote and her male mate, Pilosto.

Yaxley spoke in a deep commanding voice, "We want them in the racks for us today. Don't we men?…" Selwyn and Travers nodded appreciatively to Yaxley's idea.

Pilosto and Mote nodded dully. Mote languidly answering, "Follow me, masters."

The lights of the lamps and wands danced as they traversed the length of the chamber, the ceiling sloped downward as they came to the other end. Yaxley massaged his hands, adrenaline pumping with excitement.

Five naked women were hung in chains placed at the wrists, and ankles. It was the very Veela being kept as sex-slaves. They were perfectly silent and dazed, as they were currently under Silencio charms. Two of them were hanging upside down, silverly-haired heads crammed into the wall, where the rats would occasionally chew the strands to use for their nests. Travers grinned at Yaxley, who returned the smile, feeling the same anticipation for their coming amusement.

The three men put their wands in their deep pockets, as Pilosto lit several torches surrounding the room. Mote meanwhile, removed three of the Veelas, freeing them of the fetters keeping them to the cold stone wall. However, Mote did not remove the chains clamping their ankles together, because they were strong enough that they could run.

Mote and Pilsosto together directed the three Veelas who followed complacently at their instruction to go to the racks. They understood these words, and their feet shuffled to the other location.

Pilosto and Mote prompted the three women to lay down on the tables, and they only had to force one of them onto it, so used to complying to this treatment for the past year they did not object. At least they knew they would get to see a human face. Next Pilosto and Mote spread the limbs out and then belted them into the contraption.

"They are yours for a little time. Enjoy yourselves," grunted Pilosto, and the two elves turned to leave.

"Oh, we will! It's absolutely a pleasure to have them," said Yaxley harshly.

Selwyn chimed in, "But thanks is more in order to You-Know-Who. For getting us these little chickies!"

The two men laughed at this and Travers muttered, "Stupid House-elves. These are not to be pleasured. Wanton Veelas get torture."

Yaxley nodded and elaborated on Travers thoughts, making them more precise, "And their torture serves for our pleasure. Only."

Pilosto and Mote did not care at this slight against their kind as they were used to it all the time. They made their way down the steps, which creaked loudly.

Travers, long black hair framing his face, went for one of the Veelas, taking his wand out. He pinched the Veela's nipple fondly, as it was a child's cheek. Wand raised, he lifted the Silencio charm. "Scream for me Veela cunt. Crucio!"

At once the Veela's body was shaking erratically, the more she shook from the curse, the tighter the strains of the rack became. The nearly emaciated body was stretched within several seconds to breaking point, horrible cracks rent the air as bones broke and ligaments were torn. The Veela screamed high-pitched shrills of agony, as Travers unbelted his Death Eater robes. His cock sprung out and he forced his bursting member into the Veelas's pussy. He decided to release the torture curse but the woman did not cease her vocal cries. She did not scream anyore, but a long mournful call came out of her mouth like a song, a trill of deep sadness.

"Shut-up," hissed Travers, but the Veela did not cease her at once beautiful and mournful cry.

Meanwhile, Yaxley had the tiniest Veela in the middle rack, he was flipping the rack over, continuously thrusting his penis into the Veela's vagina, and rotating with thrusting in her hollow anus. The faster he went the better Yaxley was getting his kick, the deeper he breathed until he was screaming in his own orgasm.

And Selwyn to Yaxley's left, was busy Crucoing his own Veela for short interludes, whilst he stood on top of the rack, ramming his penis into the Veela's ass and at the same time pulling on her fine silverly hair, so hard, strands of it were pulled out the scalp. He watched delightedly as her ligaments stretched painfully, breaking the bones.

Yalxey after orgasm noted, "This felt so good. I'd almost like to try something like this with my wife. How about you, Selwyn? Fancy making your wife your slave for a day?"

Selwyn jumped off the rack at once and peered at Yaxley, his expression mortified. "That's just plain sick, Yaxley! Our wives?! These are just scum to give us a good fuck. They are Veela women! All they do is desire."

"I – yeah, you're right," said Yaxley reluctantly.

Suddenly they were interrupted by the two House-elves returning, carrying pairs of buckets, laden across their shoulders.

Pilosto and Mote tapped their fists against the men's waist, trying to get their attention. Loudly Mote called out, "Sirs, we have to feed them."

"What?," said Yaxley.

Pilosto said importantly, "'tis their feeding time."

Selwyn stepped away from the racks and relented, "Fine. I had enough with it."

Yaxley and Travers stepped away too and watched for a few seconds as the House-elves went straight to work, placing the buckets off their shoulders onto the floor. Then they rapidly unbelted the bodies from the racks and with tiny brown hands rolled them off the tables, where they crumpled into heaps on the ground, because their bones were broken.

"Do not worry, masters. Skele-gro makes their bones good by tomorrow," said the female elf, Mote.

Pilosto ordered the three Veelas, clapping briskly to get their attention "Into your bird forms or else punishment!" Meanwhile, Mote had scurried away to get the other two Veelas for feeding time.

The Veelas each transformed into huge yellow birds, clucking and cawing and biting each other, so ravenous were they. They still had the chains around their ankles, which had shrunk during the transfiguration.

Pilosto and Mote scattered piles of bread crumbs on the floor and left out the other pails , full of water for them. Yaxley Selwyn and Travers laughed uproariously at the sight of the Veelas in their bird form scampering on the ground exactly like hens. After a good laugh, the three Death Eaters turned to leave the tower.

Review Please!  
NOTE: This might seem like pointless porn, but it's not. I need to show the Veelas in order to introduce them for later when you'll see them dance with Narcissa. It also serves to develop Yaxley and the other Death Eaters, and introduces the mood of the story. A mood in which horrible atrocities go on constantly. This is only one of them.


	5. Brain Damage

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**Please Review!**

Chapter Two: Brain Damage

Many miles away, down the placid lake of Malfoy manor, were several rivers. At an eerie pace, twenty-five canoes glided down the water of one of Wiltshire rivers, lanterns shining yellow beads of light on water like black glass in the darkness. They moved at an unnaturally fast pace, and what was more disconcerting, is that the men on them were not rowing. The canoes moved by sheer magic alone. Men were standing, one on the bow, one on the stern of each, fearless. For there was no chance the canoes would topple over.

Besides the canoes' lights, intermittent lantern lights were flashing all around the river, far from the canoes. The men stopped the canoes, remaining hovering on top, as the canoes pulled to a motionless, stationary state. And they held their breath, waiting.

One individual put down his cigarette, throwing it carelessly into the water. He said, "Greyback! We've got 'em! I spy a whole host of muggles!"

A man with a shaggy head emerged from a trapdoor in a canoe, jumping out at an inhumanly possible bolt. His feet rested firmly on the trapdoor, once he shut it and he surveyed the land with keen yellowish eyes. It was Fenrir Greyback, the notorious werewolf. "Yep. Let's go and get those buggers to take! They are ours!"

Men as well as a few women raised their wands and pointed it at the stern of their canoes as if there was a motor to wind. Instantly, the boats began to move again, rapidly, approaching the shore. As the canoes all sped past, murky images darted by, composed completely of smoke with twinkling lights. They were the Hinkypunks, creatures used to lure muggles away with. Greyback had been specifically requested by Voldemort to use them. It was only one of the many methods being utilised to capture muggles along the Wiltshire countryside.

The wizards jumped off their canoes once they hit ground. In the distance, small groups of muggles approached the river, lured by the twinkling lights of the Hinkypunks. They might have been travelers or they might have just wondered where the lights came from. In their minds it was like a mirage and they were mystified by it.

The men who followed Greyback darted forward in droves running, boots tramping loudly. All of the men and women from the canoes were in a uniform: splendid black and yellow robes. Two entwined snakes made a double "S" on their chests. They were a band of Voldemort's Snatchers and of course, not one of them had a Dark Mark.

Within moments, the Snatchers had the muggles surrounded and were casting spells on them left and right. One of the muggles, a woman in a long skirt and shortsleeved blouse screamed. Not a few seconds later and one of the Snatchers had silenced her. The others were put under Imperius Curses and told to keep quiet or else were knocked unconscious or stunned.

Greyback took no part in it. Instead he scanned the riverside with a few of his favorite companions just in case they needed to make a run for it. The other Snatchers returned, hauling with them the muggles they had caught.

Into some of the canoes the Snatchers ushered the dozen or so muggles in. They hurried to open the trapdoors on the bottom of the canoes. And then at once, Snatchers escorted each muggle down a ladder chute and into the abyss of the canoe's base. It was a dark and dingy atmosphere, one they would never leave. At least never departing until they would be killed for sport when Voldemort decided.

Greyback remained on the deck of his canoe, waiting for them to finish.

"Got our latest shipment loaded?" he asked one of the men.

"Yes, sir!" the man answered back roughly.

"Any of them younglings?" he asked excitedly.

"One of them appeared to be in their late teens or maybe early twenties, Greyback!"

"Good. Which boat?"

The Snatcher turned around to a different direction looking out at the mass of long, slender canoes. "I think- I saw him taken over there. It's gotta be one of those canoes."

Greyback licked his lips and actually salivated, drool ebbing off his whiskers. And at once, he went with a loping, eager gait through the shallow water, which reached to his knees.

"One of you fellas' put a youngling belowdecks?"

"Yes, I did Greyback. You want him?"

"I certainly want him! To have him all for myself!"

The men laughed raucously, used to Greyback's ways by now. Then, they nodded their assent at the werewolf, for they were complacently willing to give him any share of the booty he so desired. Though they themselves had also taken part in the fun below the canoes during the past few weeks, ever since these adventures began.

But Greyback did not disappear under the bowels of the canoe. Not yet. He had taken out his rather short wand. He pressed it into his throat and his command reverberated all along the riverbank, "Oi! Time to turn back mateys. Carry on with ya!"

The men at once obeyed his words. The canoes sailed away from the river, passing by muggle boats docked there for the night. They moved at a rapid pace, yet the canoes' passage through the slow current was smooth and as soundless as if passing through an empty void.

With startling ease, Greyback's sinewy arms opened the heavy iron trapdoor and he jumped down the hole. He had not bothered to use the ladder.

The space beneath the canoe was much bigger than one would imagine ordinarily. Magic had been equipped to handle the influx of imprisoned muggles, so that over two dozen could be stored in a space that should have only been room for a few. The space in the canoe's hull was double what logic would dictate.

Greyback's breathing was heavy. He searched out for his favorite of the recently captured. Yet many more were already held inside, packed like sardines placed on shelves like unused books. All but the newest arrivals were naked.

Greyback did not even pause to look at them as he strode purposefully down the narrow lane. Yet the muggles stared, wide-eyed and docile at him. They were like this from the multitude of jinxes, hexes, charms and curses the Snatchers had casted, making them obsequious and incapable of speech. Greyback's sharp eyes only cared to notice the few of them that were dead and if not, terribly close to it. The werewolf's eyes lingered on those near dead ones, lying on wooden planks as if beds. His attention span held a morbid curiosity for them, until he had found the one he wanted.

There was the youngling. The muggle was a young man in a polo shirt with curly light-blonde hair and wearing a calm expression. He might have been from a wealthy family and just visiting the area on vacation. He certainly looked to be at odds with the Spartan, dingy atmosphere, but from a Silencio charm he was unable to speak.

"Confundus!" murmured Greyback towards him. The man's eyes rolled and he suddenly wore an expression of bemused bewilderment. The muggle was not yet terrified. But Greyback would soon fix that.

Greyback went for the muggle, lunging at him and pressing all his weight, bearing down upon the man. The muggle was knocked to the ground. Greyback whipped his wand out again. "Epera Evanesco!" The man's clothing vanished and Greyback began to pant with wild anticipation feeling a hard-on coming on.

"Good meat yer' look youngling…So I bet your taste is sweet!" And as if with affection, Greyback smoothed back the cowlick on the man's curls, and held the head against his chest.

With barbarous aggression, Greyback tore at the man with an insatiable appetite. In a flourish, Greyback unbelted his uniform and then shoved the man's head even further into his sweaty chest. It was a contortion like none would desire, but only a man, or rather only a beast like that of Fenrir Greyback.

His shaggy head dipped over the man's back, as he pressed his lip's to the man's skin. His lip's brushed down the skin and Greyback basked in the sensuality of it, growing harder with the all-consuming need to reach climax. His lip's soon gave way to his pointed teeth and he was biting. Little tendrils of flesh ripped off the muggle's back. Greyback moaned with delight and sucked loudly on the flesh, as he curled his fingers around the man's ribcage.

The Silencio charm finally broke and the man screamed. Greyback, becoming ever more aroused by the screams howled with an echoing laughter.

"Thank-you, my youngling…" he purred. Greyback had been calmed by the screams and now he felt a possession, a fierce ownership of this piece of flesh. But he knew his boundaries. The Dark Lord had told him to wait and wait he shall.

And now, Greyback was directly on top of the man's backside, and his rather small penis was making contact with the man's privates. It didn't take long for Greyback to climax, until he had reached a howl, not unlike that of a wolf's.

And with a renewed surge of energy Greyback leapt over the man's hunched body and then sprung around to have another go.

At the same time Greyback and his crew was capturing and then ravishing the muggles in the canoes, a whole hour had past at Malfoy manor, in which Lucius had made arrangement for his wife...

Narcissa leaned even further into Lucius, clutching his robes like it was her life-line, crying into his shirt just under his robes. Lucius had always allowed his wife to show any emotion to him, but only away from prying eyes. True, they had fought violently over the past twenty years of their marriage, but they did love each other, albeit in a strange, horrific way.

Lucius steadied himself, and then wrapped his arms around the small of Narcissa's back trying to make her composed. He clutched harder at the tips of her golden hair, like the last hanging threads, thinking of how she was being forced to have sex with the Dark Lord like a slave. Lucius hated how all his property, including his family, the commodity he valued most, were being taken away from him. First his manor, then his wand, now his wife?!

"My little flower…I have a plan," Lucius crooned tenderly.

Narcissa abetted her crying. Her tearful azure blue eyes looked into Lucius's gray, shrunken ones, hiccuping. She saw he looked weary, but determined.

"For Draco?" she whispered.

"Yes…and you. You must leave Malfoy Manor tonight. We'll have you disapparate just outside the grounds of the driveway."

"Your plan is to banish me into exile, Lucius?…The Dark Lord" she added in terror after pausing. "He will surely kill Draco in revenge after I've escaped." Narcissa had always proven to be bolder, much bolder than anyone expected, once she had gotten to know somebody, and she could trust they were predictable enough.

"Draco…will come along with his mother whether he likes it or not. The Dark Lord will be angry with this for sure. But surely not as enraged as when he discovered the lost diary. He will soon forget his desire for you, my little flower, especially after his coup."

"Where should I go, Lucius? I should think to take the Knight Bus..."

She paused, hesitantly. Lucius could not tell if she was serious. If he knew anything about his wife, it was that she was too stuck-up to want to board the bus for the stranded Witch or Wizard.

"Back home to where I grew up…Grimmauld Place," she completed.

"No. The Dark Lord will have it watched. As you recall from that wretched elf…Kreacher? Harry Potter lived there and is likely to return. The Dark Lord is sure to have it heavily guarded….You'll have to lie low, Narcissa. Perhaps moving around muggle villages."

Narcissa wrinkled her nose, disgusted at the thought of the muggle scum she would have to live around. But it was better than staying and keeping her son in danger, whilst being made to pleasure the Dark Lord for entertainment through dancing with Veela. If she stayed, she would be publicly humiliated as the so-called "Queen" of the party on Saturday.

"I suppose it's either your plan or remain here and have our good name insulted for sure," Narcissa noted.

"Come…we must hurry. Pack a valise and I'll get Draco's," Lucius announced.

Confidently taking the initiative, he took Narcissa's slender wrist and led her out of the study.

About an hour later, Lucius and Narcissa navigated the darkness of the grounds going through a conealed wrought-iron door in the yew hedges.

The couple ran full throttle through the paths of the garden, that led to the edge of a forrest where one could disapparate. Along the way through, they went past their apothecary, which is only about as big as a shed.

Light breezes cooled their slight perspiring, Lucius windswept, his cloak sailing behind in the wind. Narcissa was flushed from the short run, clutching a stich at her side.

"Where is Draco?!," she managed to bawl loudly, despite being out of breath.

Lucius frowned, without answer. "Probably at Nott's …Draco has been visiting his friend, Theodore all summer, never telling his father when he'll be coming or going."

They had already spent time after packing, discretely searching the likely areas their son would be at on Malfoy Manor. Their efforts had come to no avail.

Narcissa ignored her husband's stern edge in his voice about their son's behavior. Narcissa at this moment was as frightened as if Draco might never be found, knowing the possible fate that awaited him if she left the manor without him. Narcissa could not even think of criticizing Draco now, only her husband was always admonishing him.

Lucius spoke, choked up with a mixture of pride and disdain, "Our Lord is doing, Merlin knows what in our bed chamber as of the moment! It may be your only chance to go free….I won't have my lovely little flower tainted by his touch. So this is goodbye, Narcissa…."

Lucius's lips impacted Narcissa's as gently as a fairy's wings. The kiss was drawn out, becoming heavier. They did not want to let go of each other, but wished the moment could last forever, free of the Dark Lord's commands. Their backs turned, entwined in each other, neither could see someone else in the distance, who had just left the apothecary, striding in their direction.

The hooded figure drew out a long wand at once and slid it up their left sleeve as if a drug addict getting their fix, then it sprinted fifty yards or so.

Lucius and Narcissa jumped in fright. Drawn out breaths were heard and a voice shrieked insanely, "CISSY NO! You will not flee and disobey the Dark Lord!"

Bellatrix had intervened, proclaiming her loyalty to Lord Voldemort as zealously as ever.

Through the pitch-black, inky landscape came a tunnel, and from it materialized a hideous face with a sand-like residue, until it came into the flesh. Lord Voldemort had appeared, thus catching the Malfoys red-handed.

Note: Please Review. I don't really like mushy stuff…I hope you think Lucius and Narcissa are in character. We don't really know what goes on behind closed doors at the Malfoys. We can't be sure of what their marriage is really like.


	6. Brain Damage 2

"You are either with us or against us!" Bellatrix screamed into the night.

"Quiet, Bella. I shall deal with this," Voldemort answered, maliciousness simmering. The light breeze of before, seemed to disappear replaced by an ominous chill.

Voldemort took a couple more steps closer to Malfoy, and stood nearly as close to paint on canvas. The lipless mouth curved as if to speak, revealing bared teeth, but he did not say anything. Instead, his ferocious crimson eyes hooked onto Lucius's gray, shrunken ones. Lucius had the tenacity to look back, whilst Narcissa retreated from the two men's view, behind Lucius's shoulders.

Voldemort's voice was a cacophony, like an explosive being detonated, "Your plan is foiled! You have nowhere to go but back to your master's headquarters. Just like the fiasco that costs my prophecy, you act in haste once again. Lucius…the pompous aristocrat who is staging a celebration in my honor. And afterwards, I take his wife to my bed…ah, excuse me, what was once their bed. But I have seen the motivation of greed even in your marriage. Narcissa…Do you know your husband covets you like a good to be sold to the highest bidder? He was not taking measures to protect you and Draco. Rather, preventing any further detriments to his wounded pride."

Voldemort was trying to turn Narcissa against her husband. Narcissa had sensed the truth in Voldemort's statements. But along with the truth was mixed a deceptive aggression that always crops up when Voldemort explains something that bothers him. But Narcissa had no chance to process it at the moment. 

Knowing what was coming, Narcissa's knees buckled and Voldemort said evenly, "Crucio." Lucius fell to the ground, tossing in his robes as if on fire, rolling around. Narcissa trembled until she fell to the ground too, nearly losing consciousness. But she was still listening to Lucius's wracking gasps for air as it sounded as if he was choking, which is the way Lucius Malfoy deals with getting the torture curse. Narcissa clutched the valise she had brought with her like a little girl with a teddy bear, and she went into the fetal position.

The anger was of no small proportion. Voldemort, maneuveured the curse, magic issuing from his fingertips to augment the pain at certain pressure points, beginning with the temples of Lucius's blonde head. The fury lapped inside Voldemort everywhere, pumping to his heart through his veins and every cell in his body, which is what happens whenever he tortures.

Bellatrix cheered on as if at a quidditch match, waving her fists with glee. She liked to see Lucius fail and especially she liked to see Voldemort win.

Someone else came loping out of the wilderness and Voldemort's eyes narrowed onto them immediately, recognition dawning on his face.

He relinquished his hold over Lucius's body. "Bella…Finish Lucius's punishment for me."

She answered the call at once, throwing herself on top of Lucius, basking in the chance to dominate him at a weak moment. "Crucio!," Bellatrix laughed maniacally. With the witch on top of him Lucius did not writhe. Instead, Bellatrix bounced on his lap, as if humping him from the front, she loved to feel someone getting the torture curse, as it was a type of mixed sadism and masochism. And then she ripped Malfoy's clothes open from a spell with her wand, and pulled her own robes up. She saw his cock filling with blood, twitching, "You like it don't you, Lucius?" And Bellatrix bit the tip of his penis, and then leaned forward, raping Narcissa's husband whilst crucioing him again, all the while laughing like on a joy ride. Narcissa was not looking, but she weeped.

Voldemort was walking with the new arrival, his arm around their brawny shoulders to a more secluded area in the forrest. They could still hear Lucius' drawn-out gasps, Narcissa's moans, and Bellatrix's jeers, but at least it was distant.

The voice was coarse and deep, "Then even Death Eaters get their own kicks, My Lord. You know how I want my booty in desserts…Youngling's warm flesh fills me up. I'd like to be able to have a bigger supply."

"And you shall have your cannibalistic desires to whet your palate, in the way you wish, Fenrir. When you and the henchmen hoard up all the muggles, you can find…I shall give you one corpse for every tenth. Understand?"

"Mhhmm…I mean, Yes master. I understand."

"For your efforts, I shall let you attend the meeting on Saturday, August second, the day after the government falls. The Malfoys are hosting a celebration of my rise to power. I will make sure, that you, despite a werewolf are welcomed amongst my elite. Just bring the muggles for us to slaughter…"

I said this is going to be a really brutal, violent fic as you can probably see now...what with the planned mass executions, Greyback's eating habits and Bella raping Lucius?! That sex came out of nowhere, but it does fit and I knew how Bella would rape him immediately. I did not expect it, but Bella's character took over me!...There is dozen of other little things i have planned that are really sick...so be warned.


	7. Brain Damage 3

**Please review!**

**Continuation of….**

**Chapter Two: Brain Damage**

Voldemort left the werewolf and strode with determination through the Malfoy's garden paths.

"Don't lay the blame on Cissy. It's all your fault Lucius," Voldemort heard Bellatrix say.

Narcissa offered a hand, and Lucius took it, helping her husband up out of the flowerbed where he had just gone through the horrible interlude of being raped and tortured.

"Don't you dare bring my husband into this. If you hadn't shown up Draco would be-'"

"Draco is to be with us…and the Dark Lord. I have told you once and I shall say it again: If I had a son I would gladly kill it. If only to gain his-his highest praise. I shall indeed kill Draco, if our Lord so desires it," Bellatrix explained ruthlessly.

Narcissa shrieked dramatically, "You do not know what it means to love a child then! If I die at the hand of the Dark Lord, I suppose it won't matter either?!"

Voldemort crept past his two Death Eaters and Narcissa yelling at the top of her lungs undetected in the darkness. Apparently they were having some sort of heated debate turning into a row. Voldemort did not care. It was good that they had arguments. Not to clear the air, no. It was good that they were fighting in order to avoid the chance that they would ever dispute collectively against himself.

"…Just keep away from Draco and stay away from my whole family…BITCH!"

Bellatrix cocked her head almost confused and then said being surprisingly reasonably, "Cissy..I know that I'm a witch. A witch just like you. We're both from the Pureblood line of-"

"Narcissa did not recapitulate your magical ancestry. She only called you a "bitch" and to that I'll add, "dumb bitch." Why don't you seek out the Dark Lord now, dumb bitch? Perhaps he is need of a blow job?"

Lucius chuckled cruelly. His extra anger and cruelty was a way to return the favor to Bellatrix for taking advantage of him before.

By now Voldemort was past the gate and entering the manor house so he could not hear what was just said.

Bellatrix scrunched her face up and said, "Lucius you know to pleasure the Dark Lord physically is an honor. But what is the highest honor is knowing he has complete faith in me. Our relationship is more than sexual. It is mystical. And I know his soul." And her brown eyes swam with tears.

"Well then, Bella. I may gladly give up your job of being his submissive. I do not want it," Narcissa said fiercely. She looked upset enough to go into a tantrum.

"You had better watch your back. You've made a very powerful enemy, Narcissa. I am no longer your ally," Bellatrix responded, suddenly admitting what she really feeling, a jealous rage for Voldemort noticing her sister.

Narcissa's hand clenched around her willow wand of unicorn. "You are not going to intimidate me Bella!"

But Bellatrix grabbed the scruff of Narcissa's fushia robes and pulled out her wand. But out of nowhere Bellatrix was disarmed and both women looked around in shock for the source.

Lucius had a wand in his hand. "But Lucius where did you get a wand?," Narcissa asked dumbfounded.

"Father had left his before his death by Dragon Pox five years ago, and I've just recently got the hang of it." Lucius would not say in front of Bellatrix how only simple spells were working.

Bellatrix grinned mishievously and backed away, trying to find her own wand through a wandless summoning charm. Mere seconds later it flew out of the tall grasses several yards away and sailed straight into her hand. Being a witch of prodigous skill, she was capable of doing rote magic without a wand.

"Our master taught me that ages ago Lucius…So that I would never go wandless and die in vain for him! Ha! How about an irreversible jinx for threatening my sister?!"

"Bella please! Don't harm my husband!"

But Bellatrix did not look pursuaded by Narcissa. She raised her wand and about to utter a spell she screamed in fury. Yet again she was disarmed. But not by Lucius or Narcissa in front of her. The source had come somewhere from behind them all.

They watched a shadowy figure emerge out of the woods, moving like they were wounded. Lucius squinted his gray eyes. They were so shrunken it was like he was squinting through sunlight rather than darkness. He was sure he recognized the strange gait but was unable to place it the movements with the identity of the figure.

He came close enough in the meager light of the night sky to be seen, grasping a thick wand. "You woman! You will not succeed. I shall back Lucius in the duel!"

But Bellatrix shrieked peals of laughter, sounding insane as she boasted, "I could take out both of you at once!"

But Greyback growled with his own kind of menacing laugh. "Not when there are those behind me...My Snatchers are waiting to join the fight!"

"There!" Lucius had broke in haughtily. "Greyback is right! You think you can take on over several dozen witches and wizards at once Bellatrix?!"

Bellatrix frowned and blushed with embarrassment.

"You will leave with my dear wife, Bellatrix…"

Bellatrix hesitated.

"Away with you women!" said Greyback agressively.

And Bellatrix put an ameliorating arm around Narcissa and guided her gently out of the gardens back into the house. It was almost like Bellatrix thought Narcissa could not navigate her way back and Bellatrix felt like it was her task to assist her. Yet she still believed she was in charge, and her wand remained out. She still believed she somehow had the upper hand against the couple.

Greyback and Lucius turned away from the direction Narcissa and Bellatrix had left from. Their faces shone as they gazed upwards at the sky in the direction where the moon was, only a slither visible tonight.

"So when is the next full moon Greyback?" Lucius's query was not meant to be insulting. It was only out of pure curiosity that he asked.

"I wish it was soon friend….It has not been enough to satisfy me until it comes. Not for a few weeks yet!"

Lucius laughed one dry, cold note and pressed his lips together thoughtfully. Yet his mind was not on the moon, rather his own destiny which was so irrevocably linked with that of his wife's. He was wondering what Greyback could do for him, yet he wasn't going to confide anything to the werewolf just yet.

"I am glad my wife isn't here anymore Greyback….I can't stand her. And thank Merlin that dreadful sister of hers left when I told her!"

Greyback arched his neck. He grinned slyly.

"What is it?" said Lucius mildly. Greyback leaned closer as if to get more intimate with the man. Lucius resisted lurching at the strong smell of sweat and blood mingled in the air. He stuck his nose up; thinking how it made sense for it to be Greyback's smell, for it was practically his signature perfume!

"There weren't any Snatchers in the woods when I threatened the bitch…They all went home! If we dueled the witch, it would have been me backing you alone…"

Lucius sighed heavily. He was relieved the confrontation with his sister-in-law hadn't gone any further. "How are things with the units our master assembled? Have they been adequate?"

Greyback decided to be open and confess the truth to him. "Scabior isn't giving me enough power! He wants it all for himself. He's been made the commander - not I!"

"Scabior - unlike you is a full-fledged Death Eater Greyback. I suppose they don't take kindly to you being of bad blood then?" said Lucius with a cynical, leering smile. It was obvious that just because Lucius conversed with Greyback did not make him his equal.

"Bad blood!" spat Greyback. And he literally spat something like tobacco on the ground. "So what if I am Mr. Malfoy?!"

Lucius argued, "Oh come on! Greyback. You're Greyback, the notorious werewolf fiend. You can't expect the Snatchers or us Death Eaters to like you when you've preyed on our children."

"I am quite an interesting find? Ain't I? Friend?" And Greyback had his lighter humor and mood rekindled. It stroked his ego to hear how famous he was among wizards and witches up and down the British Isles.

And Lucius was staring at Fenrir keenly again, clearly he was contemplating something. "Yes you are…And the perfect man to confide in." Lucius scoffed with irritation, "For who else do I have?!"

Greyback did not answer and none was expected.

"You see Fenrir, I also had my position usurped. While you may complain the Dark Lord only grants you the uniform, and denies you the Mark and initiation…I am about to be humiliated. Humiliated the way a Malfoy has never, should not ever be treated!"

Greyback stroked his beard and now gazed at Lucius with some definite interest, a spark shined in his yellow-brown eyes.

Lucius gulped and resisted shaking in terror. "It's my wife – she – she. Greyback, the Dark Lord is forcing me to let him take her! Have her for his pleasure! And not just anywhere but in my old bed...the very bed we consummated our marriage! It is his secret so tell nobody Fenrir. Else you'll be caught disobeying our Lord!"

Greyback's peppered brows actually rose and he blinked twice before speaking. He was astonished. He had never met Lucius's wife but he always thought surely whoever Malfoy's wife was she must be a noble lady like that of a queen!

"Of course I shan't if our master forbids it. When?"

"There is to be a celebration this Saturday. After the coup. All are invited…Including you, Fenrir."

"So I heard," purred Greyback throatily.

Lucius shot him a questioning look and Greyback opened his wide mouth for explanation. "He – the Dark Lord told me about this. I get one for every tenth!" Greyback spoke impulsively.

"One for every tenth of what?"

"The carnage of muggles….Should be delicious." And Greyback unconsciously put his fingers into his mouth and started sucking the tips.

Lucius snickered under his breath and Greyback soon joined in with his own laughter.

The two men bade each other good night and went their separate ways. 

*

Lord Voldemort had long since left the gardens and gone past the fountain and into a side entrance of the house. Now inside the large, windowless Drawing room he paced to and fro. Up and down he went passing the empty chairs as he thought of his forces getting lined up to where they should be tomorrow.

The Drawing room was expansive in size and scope. He stopped before a fireplace of a good six feet in height and stared into the orange and red flames. He thought just as pensively as he had prior when gazing upon the sunset at the balcony. Yes. He was certain everything would work. Or else.

Yet he could not really envision failure. Never was that a possibility. Not for himself. He turned away from the fireplace and walked the lengthy distance from fireplace to exiting door at the opposite end. The figures inside the portraits stirred and watched the Dark Lord with fixed, haughty stares. The former Malfoys of ages past looked upon Voldemort silently and he did no more than glance at them.

There was a lot to worry about and much left to organize. He was primed for the events tomorrow, his mind running over thousands of details. So much planning had gone into his plans to seize the ministry. If his forces had somehow forgotten some crucial order he'd given, but no. That was unimaginable for he. Failure was not possible. Not for him.

His hand drifted almost idly towards his pocket and he gripped his yew wand. A surge of anger stabbed him inside. He must kill Rufus Scrimgeour. But the others…they should be spared as long as he could quietly get them to comply…He would keep them ignorant and in the dark. They need not concern themselves with Lord Voldemort!

He almost grinned as the grip on the lifeline to his powers tightened. He did not jump when he heard a sudden cry directly below. It barely lasted more than a few seconds when it muffled. Voldemort expelled a breath, a sigh from his mouth with knowingness. Wormtail was checking up on his prisoner of course! It was afterall, the Death Eater's job to keep him quiet.

He felt a sudden burst of need to know more about something imperative to the quest at hand, the very one he told his Death Eaters he must go on alone. And in a second he was moving out of the room in a hurry.

The doors of the Drawing room burst open seemingly on their own accord, yet it was actually with Voldemort's mind. He came out to the narrow corridor where a woman was slouched against the wall. She looked up to see her Lord's pale face, his complexion nearly as waxen as a moon.

"My lord….Shall I accompany you? Are you going to get the rest you need for tomorrow?"

"Bella, leave me! No! I am not in need of rest. Nor shall you be present when that is so!" he screamed. He did not like to hear his servants even imply his need for sleep and any other bodily activities. They were something he secretly wished he could eradicate from himself.

Bellatrix dared one look of mutiny before turning away and scowling only to herself. She stole back down the corridor feeling very much disappointed she would not be in bed with him. A moment later Voldemort followed in the same direction but then made a sudden left turn.

He opened a door and went down a narrow, dingy staircase and came to another plain door. That he opened as well. He was immersed in the darkness of a dank cellar once he descended the last few steps. It was quite the antonym to the opulence and wealth of the rest of the manor.

There was nothing. Nothing except darkness and a pile of rags with a lone figure stretched out on it. The rest of the floor not occupied by the man on the rags was cold and barren. He looked to be shivering. Yet it was probably more from fright.

"W-what do you want from me?" he stammered before Voldemort could speak first.

"Ollivander…Ollivander…You know what it is I seek. I have been tormenting and raking it out of your mind for a year! And you will give it to me!"

"No! I won't!" the man whimpered somewhat bravely.

He took a step closer and grabbed the old man's wrinkly face, looking into his moonlike eyes that were positively glowing in the dark.

Voldemort suppressed a laugh and said calmly, with complete certainty, "Oh, but you will. Tonight.

"Tell me about the Elder Wand! Where did it originate?"

Ollivander shook his head in defeat. "There is no definite answer," he whispered.

"What do you mean old man?!" boomed Voldemort and he spat, "Talk sense."

"It is a legend. The legend of the Deathly Hallows."

There was a sparkle in Voldemort's eyes. His curiosity was piqued. "A legend you say? Like the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Yes. The Deathly Hallows. Three brothers on a journey into the great beyond. One chooses the cloak for complete protection in hopes to never be found. The other chooses the stone with the power to resurrect the dead, and the final brother chose the wand. The most powerful wand ever created."

"Forget the fairytale! I do not care for the cloak or the stone…" said Voldemort and he dismissed it with a wave of his hand, currently armoured with his own wand. "If even they exist. Where is the actual wand?"

"I do not know! I do not know!" said Ollivander in desperation. "No Wandmaker has ever witnessed such an event!"

And before Voldemort could even issue the curse, Ollivander twisted in his rags and whimpered, anticipating what was to come. "Crucio!"

For an inexorable moment Ollivander's screams rented the sepulchral atmosphere basement.

With a mere twitch of Voldemort's hand the curse was removed. "Shall you get another dose of pain? I can and will make this all night if I must Ollivander…Or will you tell me everything you know?"

There was a long pause of suspenseful silence. "Alright…" Ollivander's spirit finally broke. He felt torn and defeated. "I'll do it."

Voldemort looked for once satisfied and he spoke again. "I understand how it is that a wand chooses it's owner…and that a wand's power may be transferred from one wizard to another as it did for me with Lucius's wand…Until it snapped. I punished you for your mishap didn't I, Ollivander?"

But the Wandmaker refused to answer. He merely stared back at Voldemort with an expression of pure mutiny. He wouldn't allow Voldemort to push him around as if he had sunk as low as one of his minions. He was letting Voldemort know that if he weren't forced to, he would not be sharing any information at all.

But Voldemort waited for his answer and Ollivander spoke. "Yes. The exchange may occur as partly or wholly to the one who actually captures it from the original owner."

"Right…Who has the actual wand in his ownership now?"

Ollivander quaked nervously to this query. "I do not know."

The Dark Lord's fiery red eyes bored into the man's moon-like shimmering ones. "You are lying!" hissed Voldemort. "I am sure of it! You will tell me the truth!" he commanded.

"I am! I am telling you the truth! I am not sure of it!"

"You are lying. You know!" screamed Voldemort, clearly insanely nettled. "Crucio!"

For several minutes Ollivander and Voldemort went through the exchange of Voldemort's demands that he confess who had the wand and Ollivander's denial that he knew. Until finally Voldemort seemed to have broken the old man into submission.

"Arrgh! Do not torture me anymore! I-I-"

Voldemort waited with a look of horrible expectancy on his face. In fact his snake-like slits for nostrils with the circular parted mouth looked like the Peverell coat of arms symbol, only inverted. The two lines of deep wrinkles created the sides of the triangle, his slits for a nose were like the wand inside the triangle, and his mouth the circle, which was too low to enclose the triangle.

And it seemed he believed Ollivander was weakening into giving him the crucial piece of information that would actually set him on the quest he hinted at to his men earlier today.

"Yes? What is it?" Voldemort prompted sharply.

"Gregorovitch has the Elder wand," lied Ollivander convincingly. Immediately Ollivander felt a wave of guilt wash over him with only a twinge of relief for his own safety. Ollivander felt guilt, knowing he was setting this mad man out to go after another person. He should refuse and die. But then again, he knew Voldemort wasn't going to kill him, well at least not for awhile. That much had already been made clear for over a year.

"Gregorovitch will if I know him well, be studying the secrets closely," added the prisoner, spreading a rumour to Voldemort, as Ollivander knew in actuality he couldn't be sure that Gregorotvitch even had the wand today.

"Who is Gregorovitch? Where can I find him?"

"He is the German Wandmaker," said Ollivander weakly. "In Germany. More specifically than that, I do not know where he resides."

Voldemort actually smiled. He looked wildly happy, like a beast that had risen. Ollivander couldn't stop himself; for he was actually smiling too but for a very different reason. The conversation about wands had brought back some of his own fiery passion that he had before he'd being abducted. He felt happier than he had ever felt inside the cellar.

"That wand can make one invincibly powerful…It is almost impossible to defeat someone when they possess the Deathstick."

Voldemort listened closely to Ollivander's statement, his attention rapt. His mouth continued to play a delighted sneer and his red eyes were alight.

There was a long look of calculation on Voldemort's snake-like visage then he asked quickly, "It is safe to assume that one must kill the previous owner to have the wand transfer its powers?"

Ollivander shook his head forcibly. "Abolsutely no!"

And Voldemort began to pout almost like a child as he ranted in a rage; "I MUST kill Gregorovitch to get to the wand!"

"No…" Ollivander moaned miserably. He went on dully almost like he was lecturing, "The history of the Deathstick is littered with the stains of murder. But it is a mistake to kill…"

"A mistake?" retched Voldemort's voice incredulously.

Ollivander sighed sadly. "Once again you think death is the only answer to seek. It is all YOU seek…" he corrected. Ollivander, with a sudden burst of bravery glowered at Voldemort, his eyes flashing.

"Possessing, actually owning that beautiful wand is not about death. Or at least not in the sense you describe it. It is mastering death that makes you invincible."

Voldemort, in response laughed ferociously once again, and it sounded dangerous. He leered over Ollivander and mouthed, "You think I have not already defeated death? I have gone further than any on the path to immortality and in the process, I think I already have mastered death!"

Ollivander lurched and stared at Voldemort in horror. Ollivander did indeed understand exactly what Voldemort was implying. "You-You've made one?" he asked suddenly feeling weak.

"One! I've made six of them!" said Voldemort triumphantly. "There is no reason I have to fear to admit this. For surely…Did you not already suspect it?"

Ollivander nodded silently. Voldemort seemed to be basking in the pain this knowledge was creating for Ollivander.

Voldemort collected his thoughts then went onward softly. "And I will kill Gregorovitch to get to that wand."

"Once again, you assume death is the only answer to living," said Ollivander impatiently.

Voldemort retorted sharply, "That wand…The Elder Wand, the wand of destiny, the unbeatable, undefeatable wand, the Deathstick is for me to take for myself alone! I master it and I master everything at last."

Ollivander shook irritably and with courage argued, "You will never get that wand! It will never do it's bidding for a-a b-being like you! You will never understand the beauty of such great mystery…The truth. The heart of things…"

But Voldemort was hardly listening.

"Yes…Perhaps I should reward you for your advice," said Voldemort somewhat sardonically. "Lord Voldemort does bestow his gratitude onto his abettors. How would you like to leave this place Ollivander?"

For a second Ollivander could hardly believe his ears. "Yes. Yes. I would be so happy!"

"You would like to come out and be free I know…But no. You will continue to live in the darkness of this cellar. My reward is simply to bestow to you your continued existence, Ollivander. I can promise that I shall not kill you. You are afterall one of those people whom I need…And when I need you again I shall return…"

And with that, Voldemort swept away up the stairs to the ground floor, leaving a miserable Ollivander in the shadows. The doors closed and he was alone.

**NOTE: Please review!**


	8. Brain Damage 4

*****

At the same time Voldemort tortured his prisoner, an important meeting happened to be taking place in London, hundreds of feet beneath the earth, in an underground passage at the Ministry of Magic. The meeting was of the cloak and dagger kind. It was to be a sharing of news between Britain's top-notch aurors.

A man like that of an old lion with tawny hair and bushy eyebrows and keen-staring, yellow eyes sat at the head of his boardroom meeting, peering at his group through wire-rimmed spectacles. His face was heavily battle-scarred from years of service as an auror, and it gave him the much-needed impression of shrewd toughness. Nobody looked privy to exchanging news with Minister Scrimgeour on this night though. The witches and wizards sat around the table, all of them highly qualified Aurors who were all taking turns serving as Scrimgeour's bodyguard. All except one man, one very young man, barley fresh out of Hogwarts.

Rufus Scrimgeour turned blank eyes onto this man in particular. And seeing the young wizard's blazing red hair and alertness somehow revived the minister's mood.

"Mr. Weasley…Is your quill poised to report the minutes?"

Percy's eyes popped with enthusiasm under his horn-rimmed spectacles, and sounding almost obsequious as a house-elf said, "Yes, Minister."

Scrimgeour smiled, slightly mellowed and murmured, "Good." At least all was well on that particular duty. It was perhaps the only thing that had gone well for the ministry in months. The minister was no fool like former Minister Fudge. He knew without a doubt his power as minister was waning, and like Fudge, he was lame and ineffectual. Fudge had known this about himself too, but he still grasped desperately to survive the mayhem of Wizard politics during his last months in office. Rufus refused the desperate stance and instead let his post crash around his ears. What else could he do? And yes, the hardened Ex-auror was desperate for something to get passed during his tenure, so that at least one successful endeavor could leave a good mark upon his name.

Now he presided over his meeting. "Very well…we must start proper. Call to order."

And moments later Percy started with the roll call, feeling most important. Once it was over they commented over the only auror who was absent.

"Where's Tonks? – I valued her input," said Scrimgeour. "She fraternizes with a werewolf named Remus Lupin," and this was not said with derision. "Not a very bad thing really. I invited him here tonight. We could have used his knowledge."

Eyes widened in disbelief that the minister could be so careless as to invite a werewolf, an outsider of the community into a private meeting concerning safety. Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror office, seated to the right of the Minister for Magic turned to him incredulously. "Nymphadora Tonks took off work tonight, Rufus. She said it was a personal matter. And – well…Couldn't say no. She hasn't used up any vacation days."

One auror snorted and commented to his fellow beside him, "No doubt she's using her time to get frisky with the werewolf. Filth!"

Some around the table shuddered at the thought of intimate contact with a werewolf, but most of them were not as prejudiced as the average witch or wizard.

But the minister wasn't listening. And Percy was unfazed by this sudden revelation. Werewolves didn't bother him. He'd heard Bill had gotten bitten by Greyback. Percy's affection and fondness for his elder brother, (whom he had always secretely admired) would never change regardless of whether Bill was a werewolf now or not. And besides Percy was from an entire family of Blood-traitors.

Scrimgeour, chin in his hands stared mulishly into space. He was thinking of the argument he with Harry Potter just before sunset today. It hadn't gone at all to his liking. Once again he was upbraided at expense of the Chosen One. Scrimgeour found all hope fast fading. There was no assurance to calm the public and keep morale up to make the population resist Lord Voldemort. But there was still other things he could do….

Before Scrimgeour could reveal plans, Kingsley Shacklebolt spoke up, his earring gleamed as the only shard of golden light in the dark room. "Minister, I think we should have er….a remembrance for our fallen comrade."

"Yes," conceded the Minister. "I suppose. Thank-you Kingsley."

All eyes fixed upon Scimgeour expectantly. "Let us share a moment of silence for Alastor Moody. Killed in combat two weeks ago. Slain for certain and yet we cannot locate the body. We all– valued his service and unparalled ingenuity in fighting Dark Forces."

The clock ticked ominously on. Scrimgeour sat staring at piles of Wizarding codes of law, memos, maps, etc. He was growing anxious yet again. To him, Moody's death was an unpleasant reminder how everything was failing.

Reluctantly Scrimgeour set his glasses down. There were deep shadows gouged under his eyes. He had not slept peacefully for weeks.

Auror John Dawlish spoke up, clearing his throat. He was certain he had something very important to say. "The wider Wizarding world has been informed of the dangers. And we all know they finally believe he's back."

"Public awareness doesn't bode well…" snapped a wizard with a thick mustache. "I prefer them in ignorance."

Another Auror complained hawkishly, starting a row, "And what do you know, Dawlish? You got yourself Confunded a couple of weeks ago!"

There was a round of jeering laughter. Everybody except Dawlish and the minister joined in. Percy rather poorly concealed sniggering with a hand covering his mouth.

"Enough…We have little time for divisions amongst ourselves," chided Scrimgeour.

Instantly it grew quiet again. Kingsley said throatily, "We shall protect the muggle minister? Will we not?"

Scrimgeour nodded assuredly. Privately he thought as long as I remain standing. That will be until Lord Voldemort brings in a puppet as is inevitable. And then, Scrimgeour would be out of a job, and the muggles would be on their own fending for themselves. The minister answered the query, "Yes, you may continue to do your best."

For the last year, Kingsley was assigned to the muggle prime minister's office at number 10 Downing Street. And inside this spacious stateroom, right above Scrimgeour's head at this very moment, the muggle minister's portrait stood hanging.

"There have been a lot of muggle disappearances in the last month," muttered another Auror darkly. "Hundreds they say."

Quietly the Aurors discussed this amongst themselves. There was even quite a few suspicious glances and calculating looks. "Killing" and "Torturing" and "Coercing the non-magic folk". But they were all stymied. There was only one logical explanation for the sudden death toll.

"Death Eaters….Blood-thirsty lot. Out for fun, I'm afraid," said Dawlish.

Scrimgeour agreed with Dawlish on this point. "Correct Dawlish. I have no doubt it has something to do with them. But it is proving impossible for us Aurors to catch them at it, this time around!"

Scrimgeour was remembering the First war. Those had been dark times, for uncertainty and great peril had reigned then. It was all coming back to him now. It was dark times all over again.

"They are savage criminals who should be given over to the dementors," bellowed Kingsley. There were raised glasses and "hear hears" at this proclamation.

Another auror spat vengefully, hiding tears behind his eyes, "I'll never forget what they did to my wife and daughter…I watched – bound in chains as they were slowly tortured…begging for death and then -finally taken out of misery. Gone. Dead!"

Everybody frowned in unison. "The international world must be aware….The Dark Lord will assuredly make it difficult for our people to leave the country. And we must warn the other witches and wizards around the world not to visit!" Kingsley warned.

Dawlish complained, "Yes, it will all be bad for business. The value of gold has dropped to a staggering low exchange with the other countries. And people are bullying the goblins to extend them credit, or else charge them less interest!"

"It is only a matter of time before Gringotts will be taken over along with the ministry," added Scrimgeour direly.

Gawain Robards looked sharply at the minister. "You think you'll be ousted from office, Rufus?"

"I am sure of it. The time is….soon. Look at what has happened to Pius Thickness…Have any of you noticed his strange behavior of late?"

"Someone placed him under the Imperius," added one Auror.

"My guess is…. that trouble-maker, Yaxley. I don't like him, don't trust him," said Kingsley.

Scrimgeour replied, "It is not a good sign that things resort to this. However, willing obedience always beats forced obedience. We are the stronger lot. We do not always use the Unforgiveables to get things done.

"The outbreak of violence, war is imminent…And in war, truth is always the first casualty. When the Dark Lord and his minions control the populace, there will be no more liberty left in England. Muggle-borns will be horribly oppressed and eventually weeded out. It is the Purebloods who are really to blame. They have hoarded and accumulated the gold for a thousand years whilst others suffer. And it is only the Purebloods who shall flourish. The Purebloods shall accumlate ever greater wealth. They will profit from the bloodshed, I am sure!"

Soon after that the meeting quietly ended. Within another hour, Scrimgeour was more alone than he was since the day started. Although, like always, his bodyguard were situated just outside his bedchamber. An ambush was definitely possible, and very much likely.

That night he had the most horrible dream. It was so vivid and contained such a harsh reality, that he believed it must be genuine as prophecy. But Rufus Scrimgeour knew he was no seer. The minister felt frightened of the unknown, the uncertainty of coming events…..

Somebody fumbling around in the dark. He realized it was himself he was observing, bumping up against furniture. He reached the hall outside his bedchamber. He became more lucid.

There was a silverly mirror, and before it the moon shone from the garret window. He felt drawn to the glowing mirror.

But what he was saw was more horrific than any image he'd ever seen of himself. His visage was stagnant as a skull's. A lifeless corpse hung inside the mirror. Hanging? It didn't make sense. How could it be? He wasn't a warlock on trial for doing magic in the seventeenth century!

There was one of the sentries still standing guard, patrolling the halls. Scrimgeour ran in his dream desperately and grabbed the man's sleeve. The man turned inexorably around.

"Where's the minister?!" Said Scrimgeour himself.

The man looked at him strangely, as if he didn't recognize him. It was shocking he didn't know who he was talking to! "Gone," the man grunted. "Resigned from office."

The sentry turned carelessly away. Scrimgeour screamed, "Resigned! No! I'm here! I-I I'll never resign!"

But the wizard hadn't heard him. Scrimgeour realized nobody could recognize him. Here he was a ghost. And worse, it seemed by that mirror, it was telling him he was dead! But how on earth could he have resigned if he was already dead?

He returned to the mirror to gaze once again upon the lifeless corpse hanging inside the glass. And then he bolted awake. He was sweating, beads running down his high forehead and slipping to his cheeks.

He felt feverish and chilled. The chill of death was upon him. It crept through his veins like a potion, a poison that tainted him and seeped into the bones. In terror his eyes bulged and his hands flew to his face, and he pulled at the tips of his tawney hair.

Here he was alone in bed. No wife to comfort him. And he knew it now: Voldemort would come and kill him. It would be soon, the dream was telling him the truth.

Panting like he'd run a race, Scrimgeour rested back against the plump pillows. Scrimgeour remained alone, listening and watching the darkness. He had always been alone and this suited him perfect. His had been a hard life, certainly not a fair one. But from hard lessons, he learned to be tough….a nightmare would not get the best of his spirit. For a long time though, he stared into the darkness….

Lucius and Narcissa managed to arrive safely back into their bedroom, without Bellatrix or any of the other inhabitants bothering them, although she followed all the way acting like a guard escorting them back in, which is ironic given it is their own home.

Finally, they got back into their much less impressive bedchamber than the one Voldemort had taken up. Narcissa lit some pungent incense with her wand that was located around the room, and dimmed the lights, hoping to get some leisure time this evening. Lucius paced around angrily and then grabbed a fistful of glittering green floo powder and threw it into the fireplace. He knelt on the ground and submerged his head into the emerald flames.

"Nott's Estate," he exclaimed.

Narcissa could not see her husband's face, but she could still hear him yelling, "Draco! Your little playtime excursion is over. Get home immediately."

Narcissa took her robes off and put on a provocative nighttime robe that went in a v-slit all the way down from her underwear to her ankles. Then she went into bed, picking up the latest edition of Witch Weekly.

"I will tell your son to leave, if I can find him, Lucius," answered Theodore's father, who is of course, a fellow Death Eater.

Nott turned to leave, when Lucius yelled back, "Wait a moment! There is something else you need to know."

"Yes?" Nott drawled dryly.

"The Dark Lord has planned a celebration after the coup. This Saturday night at his summoning. Make sure to tell everyone in the ranks, Nott….And for each to make portkeys to my manor as family and friends are wanted."

The elderly, widowed Death Eater sneered, "Why should I be the one to be delegated this responsibility?"

"Because the Dark Lord bloody ordered you to!," Lucius lied impulsively.

"Then I shall do it at once…Goodnight to you Lucius and I know where to find Theodore and Draco…They'll be in my library." It had not been Draco's idea to do spend time in a library, but Theodore Nott was a studious loner.

Lucius removed his head from the emerald fire and whirled around. He went over to the bay window and saw an interesting sight…Across from their bedroom was the tower where five Veela witches were captive as sex slaves. Pilosto, the main house-elf could be seen closing the door of the tower. Piercing screams traveled from up the tower and into the open window of their bedroom. The elf, Pilosto clad in overalls, bobbed away with a lantern, finished feeding them for the night. Lucius closed the window, and wrenched the curtains shut, turning away from the terrible scene.

Narcissa was still flipping through Witch Weekly, whilst Lucius went to the wardrobe putting his robes away and stripping down to wearing black silk briefs. He climbed into the high four poster bed, and with his new wand, after two tries got the lights to almost total darkness. Without a word to his wife, who then threw her magazine down.

"Lucius why are you allowing Nott to invite the guests for us?" she whispered earnestly.

"I'm not in the mood to discuss it, Narcissa. But I'll tell you that I'm not doing it when the Dark Lord isn't permitting me to go to the ministry tomorrow to aid in the overthrow of Scrimgeour."  
"W-why isn't he allowing you, Lucius?" Narcissa nervously asked.

"He told me my interests are solely for my own end, and not to accomplish his objectives. That I would only get in the way," Lucius seethed bitterly.

"Oh Lucius! Can't we just forget him for a moment? I want to go to sleep and imagine a place where he does not exist. But instead I'm having nightmares."

Lucius did not answer for awhile, but then he thought of how Voldemort was going to take his wife to bed in just two short days. He pulled Narcissa, rolling her over by the waist. 

**NOTE: okay...I am finally done with the night before the coup...now the next scene will be a scene inside the ministry, I'm planning.**


	9. Waiting for the Worms

Chapter Two: Waiting For the Worms 

Friday, August second, 1997 was a quiet morning. An unnatural mist pervading the atmosphere of the Wiltshire countryside caused by the Dementors. These horrible creatures that suck the souls of the living were now roaming Great Britain in the thousands. This fateful day would become infamous in magical history marking when the most terrible dark wizard of all time seized the Ministry of Magic in England.

Inside Malfoy Manor, three figures descended the Grand Staircase clad in plain, black robes passing busts of the Malfoy lineage, in which hundreds lined the walls up the high ceiling.

"I've arranged Travers to have us arrive through the Floo Network. The Department of Magical Transport we've tampered with already. But only since last evening has the network included Malfoy Manor."

"Yes, my Lord. I knew about that already," Bellatrix imperiously noted, strutting across the hallway.

The slit nostrils of Voldemort flared and he quipped, "I was speaking more to Rowle. You are after all, not as ignorant as he."

The huge blonde Death Eater, Thorfinn Rowle who was one of the Death Eaters living at headquarters shrugged his shoulders, and pretended he did not mind the slight.

The three turned right and entered the Drawing Room of the ground floor. Beside the ornate table, the fire's golden light illuminated everything present.

Bellatrix rushed over to the gilded mirror on the other side, checking her hair. Her black curls were coiled in a tight knot, traces of strands hanging off her neck.

Rowle meanwhile found a cauldron full of floo powder placed on a shelf next to a china cabinet. Inside the cabinet were hundreds of crystal bottles. The bottles were filled to the brim with blood. They were proof of the purity of the Malfoy's magical eugenics, one bottle for each family member that ever existed.

"Good, Rowle. You are to enter the Ministry alone initially. It would be a dire miscalculation to have dozens of employees around. Make sure the Atrium is deserted as planned, and report back to me."

Voldemort had arranged this with the top ministry officials (Yaxley, Selwyn, and Travers) who were also Death Eaters. It was now after nine o'clock, so the employees would be in their offices.

"Yes, my Lord," Rowle grunted. He took the fistful of powder from the cauldron and stepped into the fire, but not without a freezing charm on the flames so they would not burn his skin.

Standing inside, he yelled in a guttering tone, "Ministry of Magic!"

The flames erupted to green and he was gone in a whirlwind of soot and ashes.

Bellatrix took several things out of the deep, inner pockets of her robes, as the vain vixen she is, looking for the magical hair-care gel to keep every hair in place later. A sac of money, and a canister filled with purple liquid was also in her robes with her wand.

A warning echoed in Voldemort's demeanor, questioning "What is the purpose, of carrying a potion like this, Bella?"

Voldemort's long forefinger indicated the canister of purple liquid.

"My Lord, It's an antidote. Available in case…a pure-blood is poisoned by the filth," she invented.

Voldemort shifted his weight impatiently, concentrating on Bellatrix fiercely.

"…There is not a single antidote that resembles that mixture. You are not being truthful, Bella. But there isn't time to deal with your insubordination, or to test the contents."

The strange thing was that Bellatrix did not look distressed by Voldemort's censorship but more determined and what was stranger confused.

"I am a pure-blood, doing my part to preserve the supreme magical race, my Lord," and she stuffed the items back into her pocket.

Voldemort was not listening. He was watching the fireplace for signs of Rowle returning.

A second past and there was the huge blonde Death Eater popping out of the Drawing Room fireplace, shaking his robes vigorously.

"All clear and ready to receive you, My Lord," he confidently machinated. And in a whirl he took the extra floo powder he had on him from before and disappeared again.

"Bella, go before me," Voldemort instructed blandly.

Bellatrix nodded and grabbed the glittering green powder from the cauldron. She stepped in gingerly and in a high-pitched boldness screamed, "Ministry of Magic!"

Voldemort waited a moment until she would have made it. His large hand like a pale spider gathered the powder in his palm.

"Ministry of Magic," he whispered forcefully and he threw it into the flames at his feet.

In an instant he was guided through space, getting infinitesimally brief looks at other wizards and witches homes and businesses in Britain. They were the ones who still had the courage to be connected to the floo network.

Voldemort appeared out of one of the fireplaces at the end of the Atrium. His wand out, and with the tinisiet indication he scourgified his robes. He had always had a habit of perfect hygeine.

At the other end Bellatrix and Rowle waited with two other wizards. One was in magnificent golden embroidered robes. The other was Travers, his long hair framing his face.

As Lord Voldemort swiftly approached, they signaled with their left hand at a ninety degree angle, revealing their Dark Marks. They chanted, "Hail the Dark Lord."

"We do not have the time for formalities, we shall save that for tomorrow evening. Are we mobilized then, Travers?"

"Scrimgeour is surrounded and will not be able to flee, my Lord. We blocked off anyone entering the Atrium since morning rush hour ended. Luckily, the Auror office has not had their suspicions raised, or they'd be down here."

"Excellent…I want this to remain as low-key as possible. No Dark Mark is to be planted over the Ministry, this difference shall be compensated later with Scrimgeour's corpse."

Voldemort, his billowing robes swirling behind him strode feeling very much in his element. He knew this mission wasn't going to fail.

"Scabior!" Voldemort addressed the Death Eater in golden, embroidered robes.

"My Lord?" he obediently answered.

Voldemort glanced at the Fountain of Magical Brethren, his eyes dilating with greed.

"Your job is to erect the statue and tablet with my regime's motto. It is absolutely imperative for the image shown to the public to…justify my objectives."

"Yes, My Lord" and Scabior skidded back to the fireplaces to get some of the henchmen who would become Snatchers.

The elf looking up adoringly at the witch and wizard with the centaur and the goblin looking unrealistically passive, were blasted into smithereens. Voldemort had cast some type of spell on it, and now it would be there job to clean the mess up as well.

As Voldemort, Bellatrix, Travers, and Rowle got closer to the lifts. The receptionist was getting out of his seat, to see what had caused the explosion. He began to hyperventilate when he saw the unmistakable, mask-like face of Lord Voldemort.

"HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED IN THE MINISTRY!," he cried his best hope of a warning, which fell on deaf ears to all but the receptionist and the supporters of the Dark Lord present.

Voldemort aimed his wand like a gun feeling an instinctual, murderous urge to kill. But it would be unreasonable and the coup must be as bloodless as possible, he thought to himself. So Voldemort controlled his anger. Instead, he put a confundus charm from the sidelines, and simultaneously Bellatrix placed a silencing charm on the receptionist's throat.

A moment later, the golden grilles clanged open for one of the lifts, and they filed inside. Rowle pressed the button to go down.

"Level four: The Atrium. Going Down," said the automated witch's voice.

Suddenly there was a severe turbulence inside the lift. Voldemort was using wandless magic to make the grate jump to the lift he wanted. Voldemort levitated himself in the air, as if he was going to fly upright so as to avoid the jolting as it skipped levels. But his Death Eaters clung desperately to the bars and were pushed around, while Voldemort hovered unperturbed by the motion. Voldemort had done this not only to save time, but to ensure that none of the ministry officials on the other levels would see them.

The lift came to a half, as Voldemort slammed his hands down, steeling himself. It was like he was braking an automobile.

"Level One: Minister for Magic and Support Staff. The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day!"

The golden grilles clanged open and Voldemort got his feet to the floor, trailed by Bellatrix, Rowle, and Travers.


	10. Waiting for the Worms 2

Continuation of previous chapter:

**Chapter Two: Waiting for the Worms**

Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle and Travers stepped onto a purple carpet. A single, long straight corridor led down to two tall, varnished oak doors that apparently was the Minister of Magic stateroom. Four sentinels stood outside. Death Eaters: Nott, Jusgson, Antonin Dolohov and Severus Snape.

As Voldemort approached, with the others flocking behind him in a v- formation, the others raised their left arms at a ninety-degree angle, each sleeve fell back on every left forearm exposing a skull chewing a serpent's tail. Solemnly the sentinel Death Eaters chanted their allegiance, "Hail the Dark Lord."

"…Well, Severus…What is the situation here?"

"Shacklebolt tried to reach the Minister, My Lord. We made a barrier so none but a person with a Dark Mark can enter now. There is no chance the Auror reported our presence, as I modified his memory." Snape said with cool control.

"Then my coup remains immaculately clandestine," Voldemort surmised with satisfaction.

"But I think Shacklebolt has guessed correctly that today it happens, My Lord. The Auror office has known about this for awhile-" and then Severus Snape's tense explanations were interrupted. Voldemort had held a large white hand up to silence him and he stopped speaking at once.

"I understand. Travers outside the doors. Severus, Bella and…Rowle come."

Travers let Bellatrix and Thorfinn Rowle pass, as he was to remain as one of the four guards on duty with Antonin Dolohov, Jugson, and Nott. Dolohov's brutal features did not look the least bit content with remaining in his position. Yet, Snape showed no sense of glee at being relieved.

Voldemort, his wand out, held it to the cracks between the doors and with an ominous flash of green light both doors simultaneously flung open.

The stateroom was revealed to be very spacious, but other than that, it looked like any other exorbitant office with additional features adorned throughout.

Rufus Scrimgeour skyrocketed from his red leather armchair as if he had been waiting for this. His wand was straight up, his face toughened, ready for battle. He did not look frightened, but looks can be deceiving.

Percy Weasley, the only other staff member who comes in before lunch as of these days, gaped at Voldemort and his notorious supporters with dazzled disgust. His eyes widening behind horn-rimmed spectacles, his face not losing color, but reddening. Percy absentmindedly dropped the feather quill in his hand, and stood defenseless.

Yet, the Minister and his Junior Assistant at the other end could not do anything. Scrimgeour tried to keep up a fighting stance, but his wand-arm drooped. Rufus knew deep down he did not stand a chance against four on one, not to mention the most powerful Dark Wizard on the face of the earth. All his skills as an Auror, everything he knew was about to end, and he wouldn't even get to live his dream, to die fighting.

Voldemort advanced onto Scrimgeour, aggression in his every twitch of motion. Like a vicious dog, he had eyes only for his prey, and so did not spot Percy Weasley at the other end.

"You dare stand proud with your wand raised at me? Knowing I am fully backed by all my forces. You are foolishly alone, my Death Eaters have surrounded the place….Drop your wand."

With a smirk, that did not go unnoticed by Voldemort, the Minister of Magic threw his wand clattering like a plastic dish to the floor.

"Severus, bind the Minister."

Snape's obsidian eyes blinked and then then he waved his wand, casting the Incarcerous Spell nonverbally. Thick, ropes tied Scrimgeour's limbs all the way down to his bound ankles from his broad clavicle. Amazingly, Scrimgeous remained upright, for despite being in Voldemort's presence he did not tremble and fall; he remained just as graceful and lordly a lion as he ever was. 

"Tell me where Harry Potter is, and I might spare your life," Voldemort spat to the Minister of Magic. This was a lie of course, Voldemort would not consider for an instant letting him live. 

Scrimgeour did not respond verbally, but his face darkened, the bushy brows casting doubt, whilst shadows were cast on the glass doors as if they were foe glass. Clouds were building up in the sky outside. There was no chance he could flee to the balcony anyway. 

For some reason, he surreptitiously glanced at the perused book on the desk that he had been poring through just before: "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore" by Rita Skeeter. Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes made him think pious thoughts of honor, and in a split-second he knew how he could fight before he died. Like Dumbledore had said, "for the greater good". It was either this or a coward's death by divulging information on the Chosen One. Scrimgeour did believe the boy was the Chosen One, even though he had never admitted it to anyone. Harry Potter was the Wizarding races' one chance of salvation from the horrors of Lord Voldemort, or whatever he really was, Scrimgeour did not know.

"The whereabouts of Harry Potter!" Voldemort demanded as if it was a cinch to order Rufus Scrimgeour around like a servant in order to get him to talk. Already knowing the ex-Auror was not going to listen, Voldemort had said it as an intolerant method to break down his mind to the precise information.

Scrimgeour staggered to remain in balance, his thighs leaning against the edge of the desk. He looked into Voldemort's red, slit-like pupils and murmured, "No."

Voldemort ignored the jibe and waited. Scrimgeour repeated, in deep defiant unctuousness, his scarred neck and jaw jutting out, "NO."

The enraged Bellatrix Lestrange who came on him from the sidelines kicked him vengefully in the shins. Bellatrix was naturally furious. Scrimgeour had defied her master, and that caused her to physically assault him.

The Minister finally swayed and then fell on his side. Percy was looking down, biting his lip so hard it was bleeding. He did not dare move. Rowle meanwhile just watched detachedly.

"Hold him, Severus! As I am to put him under torture. We don't need our friend, Scrimgeour writhing in his agony. I must have him focused to do the Legilimency thoroughly."

Severus answered curtly, "Yes, Master." He knelt in back of Scrimgeour's tawny hair flecked golden and gray. Snape's bony, veined hands clutched like an octopus's tentacles on Scrimgeour's arms, pinning him. Bellatrix knelt grabbing his shins. Voldemort did not want them to do the Petrificus totalus spell because that would render him incapable of speech, so they had to keep him perfectly inert non-magically. Rowle meanwhile, spotted Percy but did not say anything, thinking it was inconsequential.

The Dark Lord paced around Scrimgeour in a circle, prowling like a wolf about to devour his prey. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. The eyes like flames bored into Scrimgeour from above as he thundered, "Crucio!"

Scrimgeour's body stiffened if possible even more as he struggled against the bonds and his eyes rolled back, but Voldemort was already inside his mind. The Minister's mind was as blank as a gun with empty bullet cartridges. There was nothing there for Voldemort. Scrimgeour happened to be an exceptional Occlumens like Severus Snape is.

Voldemort shifted to stand in back of Snape, looking down at Scrimgeour's head, the Minister's color draining from the sallow tinge to a milky white complexion.

"Is Harry Potter…at one of the homes of the Order of the Phoenix?! Or with the ridiculous friends he keeps? Answer me!" Voldemort sounded to be losing control over his emotions. He knew Scrimgeour held the answer, "Where is he today? Right now…Tell me, so I can finally KILL the boy who should never have been….Crucio!"

Scrimgeour moaned trying to constrict his vocal cords so as not to be so loud, as he did not want to lose any dignity in his last moments.

"Severus, get your Legilimens blade out. I want his memories encapsulated to examine later," Voldemort hissed violently.

Snape delved into a front pocket of his frock coat and whipped out a tiny blade. He raised the blade and plunged it into Scrimgeour's receding hairline at the crown of his head. With a surgeon's expertise, Severus wound out silky threads, as Voldemort continued to torture him. 

Scrimgeour's shrewd eyes spurted liquid. It oozed in copious trickles down to his goatee. It was replications of his thoughts coming out.

"Useless…As empty as space!" Voldemort screamed insanely vexed. If only he was cognizant enough to remember how space is not empty, he would have created a better analogy.

Snape nodded silently to himself, well aware that black colored memory strands are completely pointless, as they contain no information.

Scrimgeour whispered as if in prayer, "Strength and honor…Shadows and dust."

The high-pitched voice of Lord Voldemort issued, "Avada Kedavra!"

And then the controversial leader, Rufus Scrimgeour was struck with a green jet of the killing curse and the Minister of Magic of Great Britain was dead. The yellow eyes were oddly clear, despite the liquid still oozing out the sockets. In one swift execution the coup had been officially accomplished by the assassination of the head of state.

Voldemort threw his shoulders back, standing taller than ever, his presence commanding. For now he was in charge and his crazy subconscious mind equated it with the power of the universe being put at his mercy.

"Rowle…Transport the body to the Malfoy's, and put it away safely, and then return back to the Ministry."

Rowle smiled pleasurably, glad to finally be delegated a task.

Percy was still standing there twenty yards away, miraculously unnoticed. Percy gazed bravely at the empty shell of the one he admired. In an epiphany he knew that he did not want to become Minister anymore.

The huge blonde Death Eater's muscular arms hoisted the bound corpse of Rufus Scrimgeour over his shoulders and sent it with him through the emerald flames.

There is still more things to show surrounding events at the Ministry that day!!! And Scrimgeour's corpse will be in the story later.


	11. Waiting for the Worms 3

Chapter Three: Waiting for the Worms continued….

Once Rowle had gone through the flames to discard Scrimgeour's corpse, Voldemort noted to Severus casually, "We cannot have them find the Minister's body. It is to be published that Scrimgeour resigned."

Meanwhile, Percy Weasley, the former Junior Assistant to the Minister trekked backward almost tripping over his dusty cloak. He escaped through an exit behind a curtained wall.

"Yes, My Lord. That is how it shall be done," Snape assented dully. He was not particular passionate about all this dirty work.

"The escorts will be arriving…proclaiming my puppet to be at work" Voldemort drawled with dry humor.

"Severus… You must depart, as they cannot see the man wanted for the murder of Dumbledore here. And you too, must go Bella. As you are not too popular with the public either…"

Without a second's hesitation, the two Death Eaters obeyed, leaving through the two tall varnished oak doors, still ajar from when they were burst open before.

And now Voldemort was left alone in the stateroom.

He raised his arms, and in an instant he vanished, or at least visibly he had disappeared. The truth of the matter was that he had cast the Disillushionment charm over himself. An immensely powerful charm that few wizards can accomplish to completion. He waited invisible. As he must remain in the shadows, for even the Imperiused Ministry workers should not get to see him.

In a couple of minutes, dozens of people were piling into the stateroom at once. At the same moment, Thorfinn Rowle returned through the flames of the fireplace.

At the head was Pius Thicknesse with Death Eaters, Yaxley, Selwyn, and Rookwood flanking him. They had been able to arrive through the lift from the second floor, because one of the Death Eaters had been trained in the initial planning for the operation. Specifically, he was taught how to control the charm that was going to block the lifts. He was ordered to make sure he reactivated the lifts, once it would become obvious Rufus Scrimgeour was dead.

The three newly arrived Death Eaters clapped their wand-free hands and stamped their feet in jubilation at Scrimgeour's apparent demise. Pius Thickness, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement went at the head of the throng, thinking they were cheering himself.

Coming behind the head, in a grave procession was every one of the fifty Wizengamot court members. They were clad in their usual uniform of plum-colored robes, silver letter "W" badges embroidered on their chests. Each of the fifty Wizengamot members over the last few weeks had been Imperiused. Now they were present to serve as witness to Pius Thickness's placement into power. Or so they thought….

Yaxley announced, boldy, "Good morning, witches and wizards. I don't know if you're aware, I have been promoted to Head of Magical Law Enforcement. And as, we no longer have a Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot…" he paused, feeling insincerity in his heart that he did not want them to know, trying not to chuckle at the thought of Dumbledore's death. "…We need one of you to volunteer as Bonder for the inaugeration of our new Minister for Magic."

At the end of these words, the fifty Wizengamot members finished their procession into the exorbitant, spacious office. They lined up neatly in front of Yaxley, with Selwyn, and Rookwood, standing on either side of Yaxley. Voldemort remained smartly in the background behind the Wizengamot near the exit. Of course, invisible.

At once someone at the front of the queue came forward, their short legs striding, a headstrong grimness about them.

Yaxley nodded curtly, as this Wizengamot member, who took their short wand out slowly.

"Thank-you…Mr. Yaxley for suggesting me to do this. I am delighted…," the woman, who was a Wizengamot member, named Dolores Umbridge said in a sweetly sinister fashion.

Dolores Umbridge took her wand out, and placed it over Yaxley and Thickness who were clasping hands, but in a manly fashion as if they were going to arm wrestle. Then they dropped to the floor, kneeling, the Wizengamot member standing in her squat frame before them.

Yaxley cleared his throat, and Umbridge seemed to copy him, in her most annoying, "ahem" sound.

"Do you Pius Thickness, affirm that you support and defend the Ministry for Magic of Great Britain against all enemies, magical and muggle?," said Yaxley. 

"I do!" answered Pius Thickness, full of haughtiness.

A thin tongue of brilliant red flame shot out of the Wizengamot's wand, as Umbridge was acting as Bonder. It wound itself around Yaxley and Pius Thickness.

"That you will bare true allegiance to the same, without any purpose of evasion?," Yaxley stated the second clause of the official oath, and as in the prior, another flame appeared, wounding itself around Yaxley and Thickness's hands, forming a chain.

"I will!," answered Thickness, nodding his shaggy head, with his long-black hair and beard, sprinkled with grays.

"That you shall sincerely discharge the duties of the administration on which you are about to enter?...So help you,...Merlin?"

"I…will!" Pius Thickness answered in a deep, explosive voice.

"Pius Thickness, by the power of the Wizengamot, and I, as head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so declare you Minister for Magic. Rise."

Thickness stood up, once the chain had wound itself like a coiling serpent and then disappeared. The newly instated Minister, the wizard who was responsible for Imperiusing all the other Department Heads after Yaxley had Imperiused Thickness himself, was now responsible for all the menial tasks Voldemort didn't want.

Thickness surveyed the crowd, through his sloping forehead, the glinting eyes blinking lazily, looking myopic. In response, all of the Wizengamot knelt, as a way to symbolize obedience to their new leader, execept Umbridge who continued to stand, her chin jutting out, and smiling awfully.

Rowle was looking stupid just standing there completely out of place.

Out of nowhere, there was a high pitched laugh, echoing off the walls of the stateroom. From where it came nobody knew, for as soon as it came it went, disappearing into the air with an eerie, simmering hiss. 

There was a shivering second of silence for a second, Dolores Umbridge actually let out a whiny whimper. But then, all at once the group started to move, with three Death Eaters heading the crowd, rushing like mad-men to leave the Ministry, with the instructions to apparate to Ottery St. Catchpole. The guards following, as well as most of the Wizengamot coming along. The difference between Death Eater and Ministry employee would no longer be recognizable. 

Thickness did not follow everyone departing. He lingered in the stateroom he could now claim ownership over, watching Umbridge's short legs trailing at the slowest pace, the caboose of the train of people, going back out the corridor to the lifts. If she didn't pick up the pace, she would miss getting to side-along apparate to the next destination.

Thickness called desperately over the clicking footsteps of over half a hundred men and women, "What about my speech? Where are the trumpets for my ceremony?!"

Yaxley, turned around, and took a piece of parchment from his pocket. "Here…Almost forgot. Read over the new policies…There are some very significant changes in there."

Yaxley slammed the scroll into Pius Thickness's hand, and then proceeded to march the Minister to the desk, sitting him down in it, like a baby at his high-chair being fed. Yaxley took his wand out concentrating on his Imperius curse, "Now send a memo to the heads that you are occupying the office….As the Minister for Magic…Remember, Scrimgeour resigned."

"Yes, sir," said Pius Thickness, thinly and weakened, once again being forced to act against his will under the Imperius curse. And with that, he took out a quill and feverishly began to write up the memos.

Yaxley turned on his heel to depart.

Lord Voldemort, perfectly silent and invisible left the stateroom. His destination was the other end of London, and then to go after Gregorovitch, in order to seize the elder wand. It was time to fly...

That is finally the end of this chapter…next chapter is called "Goodbye Blue Sky", and later I will be showing the Weasleys and the storming of wedding and Tonk's parents being tortured…!


	12. Goodbye Blue Sky

Chapter Four: Goodbye Blue Sky

Percy Weasley skidded to a stop outside the entrance into the Auror Headquarters on the second floor, clutching a stitch at his side, and with his other hand massaging his knees. Percy had just went through the Minister's emergency escape route, hidden behind the curtained wall. He had traveled down a chute and then crawled through narrow tunnels.

Through the tiny cubicles of the office, he searched for the Senior Auror.

He was turning green with fright, as the thought of dispensing the news made him nauseous. Percy hated making it even more a reality.

But Percy tapped the Auror on the shoulder. Kingsley jumped from the chair as though scalded, raising his wand.

"Shacklebolt, it is only Percy Weasley. I saw the Minister die. You-Know-Who killed Scrimgeour himself."

At these words, Shacklebolt looked like he had just received a walloping punch in the stomach. He had known this was coming. It had only been a matter of time, a question of when. There was nothing he could have done to prevent it.

"The Order must be informed," he whispered and stood up. Kingsley seemed to steel himself, rising above the calamity that was apparently taking place. "Expecto Patronum!," he roared.

A jet of pure white light erupted out of the auror's wand, in the form of a wildcat. It was a beautiful lynx Patronus, semitransparent. The lynx sprinted, swiftly and gallantly through space, traveling at the speed of light.

In a loud, deep, slow voice Kingsley announced, still aiming his wand where the Patronus had went, "The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Seconds later, Death Eaters were storming the party for Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding day.

A dozen Death Eaters and Wizengamot members arrived on the scene, breaking the protective enchantments on the property. There were dozens upon dozens of guests fleeing the orange marquee at the Weasley family's burrow, screaming in terrified pitches. One of the Death Eaters used a spell to break up the tent and it collapsed. Luckily nobody was inside it.

The Death Eaters, now in their masks, unlike before at the Ministry ran around catching the few whom they could get their hands on, before they disapparated.

They managed only a couple of people, and then they set off towards the crooked little house, knowing some of the order members were currently inside. A couple of the Death Eaters dragging the few guests of the wedding they had manage to catch.

Dolohov and Rowle had formed a pair as partners working together. Rowle, yelped suddenly feeling the back of his left forearm prickle. Dolohov shrugged, feeling the same thing on the back of his left forearm as well, but ignoring it.

Rowle grunted to his other burly Death Eater cohort, "Hey…my Mark just burned. Someone dared say the Dark Lords name!"

"I doubt it matters in this situation, Rowle. Seeing as we're ordered to interrogate anybody that knows anything, and that is what we are to do."

"We better go see who it was. Maybe it was Harry Potter."

"Alright…Let's go then," Antonin Dolohov relented.

Both of them touched their Dark Marks with their forefingers and they disapparated from the burrow's landscape. Leaving the sun gleaming in the trees behind them towards a forest. 

Where they arrived was London, outside a pub on Tottenham Court Road, hundreds of miles from Ottery St. Catchpole, which is in Southern England. It was cloudy and rainy here in London….

Meanwhile…During these exact moments, Lord Voldemort was striding still invisible out of the Ministry. He strode with that sense of purpose and rightness about him inside the reception hall.

He past the Security desk, the confunded receptionist must have left in terror. Everything was strangely silent. The Atrium deserted.

Voldemort looked up to appraise the statue of his regime. Above the whiteness of Voldemort's head was a stately witch and wizard, carved with ornate detail in black stone. They peered down at the place with sinister, remorseless expressions. Underneath them, in gigantic capital letters was engraved onto a plaque: MAGIC IS MIGHT. The atrium seemed much darker than ever with this new imposing presence of a monument. The former light the Fountain of Magical Breathen had exuded in the past was non existent. All was darkness.

The witch and wizard statue was currently seated on nothing to support their weight. Later, as Voldemort had planned they would repose on thrones of the rotting carnage of muggles. He smiled at this thought, thinking how artistic it was for him to come up with this work of art. What an imagination...to see Muggles in subservience. Transformed into furniture for the magical race to sit on!

He went on, gliding out the marble decked floor of the atrium. He stopped, pausing to disapparate. He could disappatate as he knew the spells to lift the anti-disapparation enchantment hold on himself, inside the ministry.

At that same moment like a flock of birds, a mileu of paper airplanes streamed through the atrium, soaring past the statue. It was Thickness's memos traveling up to every employee that was on the highest level, level nine the Department of Mysteries.

Voldemort appeared in the desolate sky above the ministry after apparating out of the location, located deep underground. He was now high in the sky…and once again visible. He swooped along over London at a relatively fast pace. His cape flapping behind him as he flew up-right.

He was heading north looking down at the industrialized muggle city of London. It was disgusting what they had invented, he thought. He had hated this city since he was a small boy, when he had took the trains around it, by himself all the time. From Greenwitch to Sutton to Westminster to the very heart of London itself. He despised it as much now, as he had growing up in it, then.

But today he was flying over the city at such a great height, all the muggle buildings were just little dots to him.

Fury mounted in his heart at the thought of the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny. He was terribly impatient for it, and thoughts of it consumed him for a moment.

He continued to fly in that most strange upright posture, his body whipping effortlessly through the raindrops, like they were an illusory mirage. He came close to a muggle airplane, but they probably could not see him through the rain and clouds, anyway. 

Lord Voldemort, the hideous vulture of death continued to fly, the vertical slit-pupils fixed on the city below.

He saw in his mind's eye the indelible, infamous symbol of his murders: the Dark Mark. How he wanted to cast it, so proud he was, that all of Brittania that mattered was his! He saw the Dark Mark fill with blood, the blood of muggles leaking out into the sky. Let their shortage and ineptitudes rain down on them!

After five minutes or so, he was in the area of London where Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley would be, of course unseen to all but the magical race. But he found it easily enough, and as he came closer he descended upon the fray.

He hovered, just above the edge of the narrow alleyway that separated Knockturn Alley and Diagon Alley. He was waiting for something…

A moment later, he saw them emerge. The first band of the newly acquired Snatchers! The henchmen had a status beneath the Death Eaters. As in the hierarchy the Snatchers were like Nazi Storm-Troopers of World War II.

They were marching like soldiers, with their wands pointing to the sky above their heads.

There were other people around that they could have preyed on. But that was not the goal, yet. For today, they were instructed only to parade and only to establish the people's awareness that they were present.

They arrived at the end of the Alley way, right near the entrance to Diagon Alley, when the man, at the front apparently the leader screeched, "HALT!"

It was the Death Eater in charge of the Snatchers, Scabior. He was clad in magnificent yellow embroidered robes. It appeared that all the snatchers were wearing a similar uniform of yellow and black robes as well.

The snatchers all looked up, to Voldemort, less than fifty feet above them. Instantly they lowered their wands and kneeled. Whilst Scabior rang out, "Hail the Dark Lord!," and he signaled with his left hand exposing the Dark Mark under his sleeve, making the ninety-degree salute.

It was custom that Death Eaters do this formal salute, while all suppporters beneath, like snatchers were to kneel before Voldemort.

They watched as Voldemort raised himself, slowly, back into the sky. To the Snatchers and Travers it was like the resurrection of a christ figure. Indeed, in a way Lord Voldemort was their own hideous christ.

_****_

The good thing is...this is the end of the chapter. Next scene is a little snippet of what Lupin reported: how the Death Eaters spent hours interrogating them after they smashed up the wedding! 


	13. In the Flesh

At first I believed the following chapter was going to be a dull one…Turns out it will be a juicy little slice of the fic…and it serves the purpose to show a canon event that was not explored in detail that definitely happened. AND this also serves to establish how nasty the Death Eaters are even to decent, innocent people….Much of the interaction between fellow Death Eaters during the party will be quite brutal, and I need to show how horrible they are with these scenes.

Oh, and Lucius will be back after this chapter…as well as Draco getting his first, but not only appearance in this fic!

Chapter Five: In the Flesh

Nine Death Eaters and three Imperiused Wizengamot court officials made their way across the recently de-gnomed garden. It was quiet at the Weasley's Burrow, for the usual clucking of chickens was absent, as the livestock were shut away before Mr. And Mrs. Delacour had arrived. A cheerful sunny blue sky smiled down on the lush landscape. The cheery skies were rather frightening, because they projected a false reality.

A woman Death Eater with pointy, jagged teeth and a dirty look about her, who goes by the name of Alecto Carrow was dragging along one of the captured guests by the scruff of the neck.

"And Odo the hero…They laid him to rest," the guest sang in a slur, that was becoming incoherent. It was the Weasley children's uncle, who had gotten drunk during the celebration on a dozen butterbeers. This caught wizard was squat, donning a purple porkpie hat.

The other guest they had caught was also wasted on booze, and he laughed hysterically at the recitation of the popular song from the Wizarding Wireless radio network. This other drunk, came out of a daze, and expelled a wrenching laugh. A load of bile deluged onto the mossy ground of the garden. The bile appeared to be fire whiskey and cake.

At this moment, they got right outside the windows of the burrow, with polka-dot curtains fluttering at the onset of a cool breeze. The nine Death Eaters plus the three ministry officials began to surround the quaint house. From Travers, to Nott, to Alecto Carrow, to Amycus Carrow, to Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange, the two Avery men, and Rookwood, and finally the three ministry employees.

"Shut the fucking hell up!," Avery rasped towards the drunks, with a toxic temper, and a noxious vocabulary to boot.

"Yeah…Concentrate," quipped Augustus Rookwood, Death Eater and former Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries. Rookwood, also a former Ravenclaw jerked his wand out, and muttered under his breath, a litany of ancient incantations.

Rookwood's concentration was not wrecked by the sudden outburst, "Where is Dolohov? And where the fuck is that huge blonde bloke…?!"

The other Death Eaters, turned their faces, in their unique metal masks with hoods covering the back of the heads. They were each determined to blame the other, for any mistakes.

"Well…Think! They responded... to the Taboo!," shouted the condescending leer of the elderly widow, Nott.

"I don't know if that was wise,… He told us to-," Amycus Carrow voiced nervously, referring to the instructions of their master.

"Who cares... Break the enchantments!," screeched Travers vehemenantly. Travers did not like working under pressure.

Once they stopped bickering, within mere seconds they had broken up whatever basic enchantments had been preventing them from getting to go inside. Of course, there was no Fidelius charm on the burrow at this point in time.

With no further ado, they each stepped forward at the same moment, some of them going through the backdoor, others magically unlocking the front door. Flowers had been picked specially to make the burrow hospitable for the wedding. Rabastan Lestrange kicked aside the Flutterby flower pots on the front porch, next to a "Welcome" mat. These flowers had replaced the usual old wellington boots and cauldrons that had lined the porch before the wedding celebration.

Once the Death Eaters broke entry into the home, the sparkle and cleanliness of the burrow deteriorated at once. The atmosphere inside lost it's comfortable warmth, replaced by the Death Eaters' positively ugly presence. Furthermore, with two dozen bodies in such a cramped space on a summer's day, it was fast becoming stifling.

Both crossed the thresholds and met up with the wizards and witches in the tiny little corner of a sitting room, that was more an alcove. Arthur and Molly Weasley stood at the front, with Lupin and Nympadora Tonks, the young Auror right beside them. Arthur looked angrier than any of them: his mouth pursed and his cheeks redder than apples. And behind the couple were the newly-weds, Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, and next to them were Charlie, Fred and George. The only resident of the burrow not present, was Ginny, the Weasley family's only daughter. The family did not fight because they knew they had to try to cooperate if they were going to have a chance at surviving Voldemort's regime.

"It should be plain why we're here…," spat Travers in a hateful tone.

Meanwhile, most of the others skulked around the kitchen, and other rooms poking curiously at all of the objects, as if they were looking to pilfer off valuables. But Augustus Rookwood, remained rooted to the spot beside Travers. Rookwood stared up at the ceiling, apparently bored by the proceedings.

Baldly he explained, " You're going to tell us where Harry Potter is….Well, what have you got on Harry Potter for me?," Travers boomed impatiently. They were very open about why they had come, as to get any information on Harry Potter that they could.

Molly Weasley expelled a vicious huff of exasperation, and at the same moment, Arthur cocked his head, saying coldly, "Even if we knew…do you actually think we're going to tell you lot the truth?"

"Keep that trap shut, Muggle lover….Every one of you, turn around, and face the wall...Yeah, you too, Veela..."

Fleur had made a face at this rude request. All of them complied, subtily keeping their hands on the handles of their wand. Except for one...

"Why should the Order listen to your orders?," asked George, bitterly, forgetting the pun in his words.

"If you want to keep that ear, you'll listen. If not, I'll gladly sectumsempra off what Snape forgot..."

"Just do it George!," Mrs. Weasley moaned. And with that, George reluctantly obeyed.

"Quit thieving and start searching!," Travers announced irritably to his group.

The two drunk guests caught by the Death Eaters had been ambling around, until they had both collapsed on top of each other on the sofa. They fell asleep at once, snoring.

The Death Eaters searched the first floor, ransacking the whole place. Tossing up every drawer, sorting through every pile of miscellanous objects: from books, to knitting patterns, to the pantry. They even tapped on the walls, and floor, as if Harry Potter could be kept hidden there. And they waved their wands around checking for the detection of magical concealment charms.

Within several minutes, some of them finally reached the landing, at the staircase. Half of them proceeded to go upstairs…

Sorry…that is all I can get up to for tonight…I am going to finish this tomorrow…sorry I ended at this part of the chapter so suddenly…when I still have a lot to show.


	14. In the Flesh 2

Continuation of:

**Chaper Five: In the Flesh**

Amycus Carrow, Rabastan Lestrange, Rodolphus Lestrange and the two Avery men, plus one ministry official traversed up the creaking steps of the stairs. At the second floor landing, they opened up the only door to reveal Arthur and Molly's bedroom. The two Avery men went searching through it.

The other Death Eaters continued up the spiraling creaking stairs, not even holding onto the banister. Behind door number two all they found was Percy's old room that was being inhabited by Bill and Charlie for the past few days. Methodically, they combed through the space.

At door number three, Rabastan and a ministry official investigated Fred and George's room, which Fleur and Gabrielle had recently taken up. It was full of perfume bottles and make-up on the dresser, and girl's clothes and teddy bears and dolls, mixed with boys' bedding and decorations.

"Fags…," Rabastan commented this swearword under his breath. This word is an an outdated term, used to refer to a homosexual offensively, and that is precisely what the Death Eater meant here.

Lestrange shrugged his shoulders dismissively, and began to search through it with the two other wizards.

The other ones going up to the Weasley's fifth floor, were about to turn the handle, when they heard a horrible half-sucking, half-moaning sound from the ceiling.

Rodolphus, a Wizengamot member, and Amycus Carrow, all jumped, and ran back up the stairs, leaping to the topmost bedroom, at the summit. They turned the handle of the doorknob, behind door number five without a shred of trepidition.

"Arrgh!," shrieked both Amycus and the ministry official.

There laying upon a bed, with a Chudley Cannons poster tacked on the wall above, was what they believed to be a ginger-haired boy in pinstriped pajamas, sucking his thumb like an over-grown baby. The so-called "boy" had sprouting purple blisters all over his face, and was excessively hairy like a gorrilla.

At the sight of the three masked men, the creature let out the loudest moan in fright. It cowered over the bed drooling.

They wrinkled their noses in disgust as a scent like open, leaking drains washed over them. 

"It's part of the Weasley's litter," Amycus said. 

"Are you Ronald Bilius Weasley?," shouted the ministry official, reading off the list of names he was told to bring today to the burrow.

At this shouting, the so-called, "boy" that is really the Weasley's ghoul, disguised to be Ron with spattergroit, nodded several times still sucking it's thumb.

It contined nodding, as the ministry official asked, "Are you the youngest son of Mr. Arthur Weasley and Mrs. Arthur Weasley?"

"Are you contagious with spattergroit?," the ministry official next asked with a kind of curiosity.

The ghoul nodded vigorously, and to the Death Eaters it appeared the ghoul was really responding to and understanding the questions.

Amycus turned his head, still in mild disgust, his mouth wobbling as he asked the Ministry Official, mildly repulsed, "Why isn't the boy saying anything?"

"Well…The fungus must of spread to his throat, so he can't talk. Obviously, this boy won't be boarding the Hogwarts Express this September. Not with a terminal disease," replied the Wizengamot member, made Ministry Inspector.

Amycus nodded, and backed away from the threshold of the door, not wanting to get too close to the sick person.

The ministry official took out a quill and scribbled under the margin of the title "Blood-Status: "Ronald Bilius Weasley…Seriously ill."

The three of them backed away from the threshold, and magically slammed the door shut again with their wands. They obviously could not check the attic because it's latch-key was located inside Ron's bedroom, but they of course, did not know there was an attic anyway. 

Meanwhile, the other three Death Eaters (the two Avery men, and Rabastan Lestrange who were on the ground floor, finished searching by now.

"Come on. Let's get back to the level we would've searched before, if it hadn't been for the blood-traitor brat," said Amycus Carrow.

They went back down the staircase, to the floor just below Ron's room, and turned the handle.

"What?!…That's the only locked door we've encountered so far…Alohomora," grumbled Rodolphus Lestrange, incredulously.

The door still wouldn't budge.

"Stand back, and I'll try doing it physically," Amycus muttered. 

Amycus rammed his right shoulder against the side of the door several times and then raised his foot, kicking just above the handle. The wooden, thin-framed door, collapsed, falling, until it landed with a thud, the enchantment that was on it fizzled with out red light.

Like a plank they stepped over the door, now on the floor. But their faces showed mingled looks of shock. Amycus's face fleeted from shock for an instant, until recognition dawned on his face.

"Ah…It's the little girl I dueled last June at Hogwarts. Quite the little dancer she was," said Amycus, who of course is the future co-Deputy Headmaster of the school, unbeknowest to himself as of now.

Ginny was standing at the head of her bed, which was located adjacent to where the door was. Her brown eyes filled with a fierce intensity of light, as she looked on at the two Death Eaters, and the ministry official who had already started inspecting Ginny's room.

Ginny had been forced to be locked in her bedroom, earlier today, after the Death Eaters had broke up the wedding. Ginny had argued with her mother, that she was just as capable of standing up to Death Eaters, even if she wasn't in the Order.

"She's not so little anymore…" Rodolphus said heartily, almost good-naturedly. Rodolphus Lestrange's mood seemed to brighten.

"What's your age, girl?," he demanded coolly.

"Sixteen….In four days," Ginny said defiantly.

At these words, Rodolphus lunged forward, and at the same time, aimed his wand at Ginny, knocking her back onto the bed.

The Death Eater jumped aggressively, kneeling on the bed, his legs spread wide on top of Ginny. Ginny did not scream, but she was becoming very uneasy. She was still naïve enough not to anticipate what was going to happen to her. Rodolphus took a breath, sighing with desire, as he peered down at the girl, whose breasts were practically popping out of her scant, low-cut golden, yellow dress robes.

He took a fistful of her hair in his rough hands, and bent his head to smell it, through the nostril openings in the mask he was wearing. Ginny's hair was a flowery fragrance. Yet she did not think he was going to do anything to her, really. She did not want her family downstairs to think her unable to stand up to the Death Eaters.

"I'll clean up their only blood-traitor witch…Maybe do the family some good…," Rodolphus Lestrange, who is Bellatrix's husband said more to himself. He regretted how he had never had sex with Bellatrix, his pure-blood wife. He had lamented the loss of fucking her, and how Voldemort was probably getting to instead.

Ginny gazed at him fiercely, her eyes blazing with light.

Rodolphus lifted his robes up, and started humping himself with his cock against the girl's pelvis. 

In an instant Ginny screamed a blood-curdling pierce, and cried, helpless and vulnerable, "DADDY!"

Amycus Carrow was watching in ecstasy, and he laughed at the little girl screaming for her father, who could not come to her aid. For Amycus, thought he was being interrogated downstairs. Perhaps even tied up, tortured and overpowered by the Death Eaters.

Merely several seconds later, there was a pounding of feet, running up the stairs coming closer and closer. Rodolphus, lost in his fantasy continued to hump his cock against Ginny's dress, and in a second he advanced further, lifting the girl's yellow dressrobes.

Ginny, was amazingly alert, for at the same time, she surreptiously grabbed her wand, inside her robes and gave it a flick under her pocket. Thus, knocking Amycus unconscious on the floor, so that he did not have the pleasure to watch Ginny be degraded.

Yet Rodolphus, his wand still raised, pulled the girl against his chest, and her legs were forced to wrap around his waist. He was just about to push his member through her vagina, when he was also thrown back against the wall, by a powerful curse. He was slammed against the wall, falling unconscious as Mr. Weasley said, "Off my daughter, you PIMP!"

Behind Mr. Weasley was also Fred, and Bill, as Ginny's brothers had escaped the Death Eater's downstairs to defend her. If it had not been for Molly, and George, Charlie, and Lupin and Tonks and Fleur downstairs, who had managed to prevent the Death Eaters from stopping them. As the order had responded first to Ginny's scream, putting their wands at the Death Eaters throats, who would have used magic on Arthur, to stop him before he could go upstairs and rescue his daughter from whatever was ailing her.

At, Lestrange being rocketed across the room, Ginny who was wrapped around him, was thrown off, and plumpetted with a bump on the floorboards. She swayed, her forehead smacking against the floor. 

She stood up, and rubbed her bruised, aching forehead, thinking how she'd temporarily feel something similar to what it must be like to have Harry's lightning bolt scar. She smoothed her dress robes at the same time, feigning composure.

Arthur, came forward and hugged Ginny against his shoulders. Ginny could not see it, but tears were running down her father's cheeks, yet Ginny remained hardened, as she did not cry easily.

Arthur let go, and his daughter looked up at him and said, "I'm okay, dad. But let me come downstairs…"

Meanwhile, Bill and Fred magically levitated the unconscious Death Eaters into the air, and directed, them floating downstairs to where they could be watched. 

Obstinately, Arthur Weasley shook his head and said quietly, but firmly, "NO."

Ginny had been forced to lock herself in her bedroom earlier, because they knew the Death Eaters were going to storm the house, after they had arrived this afternoon. She had went up the stairs, stomping all the way, so mad nobody agreed she was mature enough to stay.

Ginny was underage, still at Hogwarts, and not in the Order, Arthur thought. Arthur also knew, that they were going to be tortured for information, and he could never forgive himself if Ginny was hurt, when, according to the adults, she was too young to understand what was at stake, and thus the decision could not be made for herself.

Arhur kissed Ginny on the forehead, and said tenderly, "We'll all be alright…They're not here to kill us…"

He left Ginny to herself, then and went back downstairs before the Death Eaters would come up here complaining that the patriarch of the family was not where they wanted him at. 

Ginny turned herself to her window, and gazed out at the orchard, with the sun, still high enough in the sky, that it was still over the trees. Her thoughts drifted to Harry, and how he was about to go hunting after Voldemort to be the hero, that would destroy him somehow. Ginny silently hoped he wouldn't become enraptured by meeting some Veela along his path, and forget about their last kiss…She thought longingly of their last kiss, pushing out of her mind the attempted rape...

(the next chapter will be the interrogation, and it will only be one update. Then I will be done with this chapter, and one step closer to the Death Eater's party. I'll tell you now, that Bella names the occasion: "Festival of the Pure-Bloods." I swear, it's going to be extraordinary. I can't wait, but it won't be probably until December that I get there...


	15. In the Flesh 3

Continuation and final installment of this chapter…

Chapter Five: In the Flesh

One of the Avery men, swaggered over to the two drunks, who were still snoring loudly. He thumped them on the back and shouted, "Wake up!"

The two men, grunted from being interrupted from sleep, and then stared around confused. When they spotted the masked Death Eaters, they rolled off each other, springing from the sofa.

Avery navigated back to the others through the rubble that was their belongings, much of it strewn on the rugged floor resembling trash.

The Order each had their wands raised and prepared to use them, as did the Death Eaters. But there was no duel. It was like each was merely threatening the other side but did not want to risk losing any men in a fight.

They knew they were going to be in the hot seat soon, and it did not help that it was boiling hot, the air so humid it seemed difficult to breathe.

"We regret having ruined your wedding day…," began Nott, with an attempt at geniality. It was calculating, all part of a game. Nott was trying to get rapport.

None of the Order members looked remotely satisfied with this lame apology, which they knew was a false gesture of kindness to get them talking.

Travers leaned forward, and took a step closer, invading the space of the Order who were all leaning against the wall.

"There is absolutely no doubt you've seen Harry Potter here today," he said confidently.

Rookwood broke in smartly, "This is no formal parlay…There isn't any deal to be made…No compromises….You've dug yourself too deep."

"Yeah, too late. You'll pay for your mistake in not joining him….," chimed in Alecto Carrow.

At the same moment, Charlie laughed scathingly, asking darkly, "You think we'd accept some sort of bribe, do you?"

"Bribe?" laughed Travers, disbelievingly. "If I had my way…I'd have all of you cursed to your deaths…" he callously remarked.

"Let's get on with it, then…" motioned Rabastan from the sidelines.

Travers stepped over into Arthur's space, and he surveyed Arthur looking through Mr. Weasley's horn-rimmed spectacles clearly. "Arthur…Do you realize…No…Here are the consequences: Don't tell us about Harry Potter… and you set a price over your head, for the life of one silly little boy. Your entire family will be jeopardized under the new regime. You are a fool to risk it for him …I guarantee you'll be put out of ministry work before the year is out, muggle lover!"

Arthur just shook his head, slowly and deliberately, containing his anger.

Fred's ears reddened, and he whispered something. Yet everyone heard him clearly, as the tense atmosphere made it possible to hear a pin drop. "You wouldn't understand…There are things worth dieing for!"

But nobody paid him any mind.

"Now…blood-traitors and other filth. Let us remind you who the so-called Chosen One actually is, so you'll tell the truth….The speculations are he had a hand in your old hero's death."

"Yeah, remember Dumby?," cackled the witch, Alecto Carrow.

"Dumby…We are not going after Potter to kill him. We are here because he is wanted for questioning by the ministy about what happened the night Snape killed him. You will want to contribute any information you have on Potter. Especially as Potter might have very well assisted Severus Snape with the plot," demanded Travers, giving clear-cut statements instead of questions.

Nott broke in and said, weighing every word carefully, "You are deluded to think this horrible Harry Potter could dare to touch our master. Potter is an unstable, violent wizard who needs to be imprisoned, so we can do Dumbledore justice."

Molly Weasley, matching the ferocity of a tiger broke in, "Harry Potter…represents innocence and hope. While…You Death Eaters are disgusting, immoral animals to follow Voldemort!"

"Say his name again, bitch and I'll do crucio," Alecto Carrow said vehemently.

"The Taboo is back," said Rookwood evenly. "You daren't say the Dark Lord's name, unless you wish death upon yourself. Say his name, and at least one of us responds to the Taboo immediately."

What transpired for the next hour of the interrogation was mostly a continuation of their attempt to demonize Harry Potter. The clock continued to tick, and all the while, Mrs. Weasley stared straight ahead at her clock, all nine hands pointing to "Mortal Peril", as they had been for more than a year now.

Ron's uncle broke in, "We did not see Harry Potter here today at all!"

"It's true…He wasn't…" murmured the other drunk.

Mr. Weasley suddenly added, exasperated "You know…You must think we're idiots. We're not going to tell anything, so clear out!"

But another hour later, the sun was gone, and the sky began to darken, and so did the first floor inside the burrow. So much so, that all twenty-three people had their wands raised, emitting light from lumos spells. The order was too nervous to even wave their wands in the slightest, even to turn the lights on in the house, afraid it would provoke dueling.

Yet they were still interrogating the members of the Order of the Phoenix present at the burrow. By now Amycus and Roldolphus, (Bellatrix's husband who nearly raped Ginny), were awake, and they took part in it as well.

As they turned to depart, one of the Death Eaters approached Remus Lupin, in his shabby, but clean robes, and spat in his face, saying "Werewolves…How dare you marry and mate a witch…although that thing… is the skum of a blood-traitor, Andromeda Black."

At least they did not know Bill Weasley was bitten by Greyback. And Bill had recovered so well, none them could tell if there was wolfish characteristics just by looking at him.

Tonk responded defensively, wishing she could curse them. Her mousy brown hair turning from yellow to orange to fiery red.

"And you Veela bride….The Dark Lord arranged a Death Eater to travel incognito to France, to get us sex slaves for rewards. You can join them, and instead of living in this crappy cottage, you'll be in a cage. I'll gladly ravage your wanton pussy….", said Amycus.

At these words, Fleur frowned and resisted herself from crying. She had no idea whether to believe the man or not, but her silver blonde hair bristled, over the goblin-made tiara.

Amazingly, the Death Eaters had not bothered to crucio any of them. Probably because they were too worried they would bring casualties back to Malfoy Manor.

The order rushed over to the little window, and watched as they walked several paces, and then disapparated all one by one, at the same point, vanishing like poofs of smoke, in the vapory twilight summer air.

"At least papa, maman, and Gabrille escaped…," Fleur, the part veela bride, to Bill Weasley noted contentedly more to herself. Yet she frowned, biting her lip, deeply troubled at the thought of some of her very own kin being kept like sexual pets, just because they were Veelas….She did not know if it was true. It was too horrific to imagine.

okay...so the chapter wasn't the most interesting...I thought there would be crucio...but I feel there wasn't, there was only verbal interrogation...this is probably the least nasty chapter there will be in the whole story...the next chapter the violence and nastiness resumes!!!!


	16. Run Like Hell

Chapter Six: Run Like Hell

At the same time that Death Eaters were smashing up the wedding, the other half were forcing themselves into every Order connected home in the country….

At the forefront of the queue was Severus Snape, his oily pallor odd in the rays of sunlight burning down on the landscape. His billowing teacher's robes cascading behind him. And right behind Severus was Bellatrix, Yaxley, Lucius, and Draco.

"Go right and up to Tiffin Street…," Snape directed the dozen through the tiny muggle village. He did so because he had all the insider information on the Order of the Phoenix and he knew the directions to the Order connected homes.

The Death Eaters, most of them in their masks ascended a road that went up a steep hill. Lucius's hair was flowing in the breeze as he strutted along, maneuvering his cane, and not even wearing his mask. He finally believed that it was safe, if not prudent to let everyone know he was a Death Eater because Voldemort had taken over.

As they climbed the hill, muggles in the windows stared out with varying mixtures of shock and terror. A middle-aged, tan woman, with two very young children at her side, frowned, and then shut the curtains as they marched past her house, their wands raised.

Two thirteen-year-old muggle girls were in the street, in bell-bottom jeans, appararently sharing a joint they were smoking. They looked up at the sight of the strange men in masks, until they saw Lucius's handsome face.

"Pretty fly for a white guy!" they commented about Lucius, eyeing him excitedly.

Lucius withdrew his new wand from the cane, angrily. He was going to curse those two stupid muggle girls for noticing him when Snape intoned sternly, "LUCIUS."

Lucius resisted the urge, remembering what Voldemort's orders had been, Not to kill anybody. Everything had to be as low-key as possible, in order to keep Voldemort's reign in the shadows.

They came to another zig-zagged intersection, which at the corner was a small house crammed next to bigger ones. The house had a door at one level, and the next just one window, and the highest level just one window.

The thirteen Death Eaters crossed the rocky path that barely served as a driveway. Yaxley reached the door first and he tried the few spells that could get a door open.

He banged his fist in anguish against the door, yelling hoarsley, "Do you want to die in there?! Open up."

Nothing was working. Peter Pettigrew was ambling around behind some rose bushes. His silver fist shot through a window on the side of the house. He continued to punch the window, until somebody behind him cast a spell shattering all the glass, and leaving an empty window frame.

Crabbe, Goyle, Jugson, Macnair, Mulciber, Selwyn and Yaxley all climbed into the window hole.

The others waited outside, until they emerged several minutes later empty handed. Much to the Death Eaters' chagrin the wizard they were looking for was not inhabiting his house.

"He isn't inside his hovel to interrogate, then?" confirmed Lucius.

"No…I think we figured that out for ourselves. It appears he vacated weeks ago," grunted Yaxley.

"But nevertheless, we must be sure. Homenum revelio," Snape cast the spell to uncover a human presence. There was no answer of a buzzing sound, and so that meant a being was not present.

"Burn it to the ground!" Snape ordered roughly. 

At once all of the Death Eaters except for Snape, Lucius, Bella, and Draco, and Yaxley (who did not like to take orders from Snape) raised their wands, surrounding the house.

Like red Avada Kedavra's, flames shot forth in jets of light.

Dedalus Diggle's house blazed in the late afternoon sunshine, slowly smoldering and crumbling to the earth, until completely destroyed.

The Death Eaters watched unperturbed for several seconds, except Draco who stared down at his boots sulkily. 

"Next…the home of Ted and Andromeda Tonks. Disapparate," said Severus Snape softly, but still authoritative.

The Death Eaters all disappeated from the place, different popping sounds echoing, as they concentrating on the next destination.

Muggles were just beginning to swarm outside the property, screaming and gawking at the burning house.

Lucius grabbed his son's shoulders as Draco did not look like he was about to perform apparition, as he wasn't ready for he had failed his test a few weeks ago.


	17. Run Like Hell 2

Continuation and Final Installment of:

Chapter Six: Run Like Hell

The Death Eaters apparated practically on top of each other in the middle of a gigantic muggle suburb.

"Watch where you're going, Jugson," complained Selwyn.

Selwyn had been pushed back by Jugson apparating in his space, and he tried to gain his bearings after nearly being toppled over by the taller wizard.

Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr. had already gravitated over to the end of the driveway, where there was a light, and what they thought was two doors. They banged their fists, whilst doing the alohomora spell.

"Idiots…That's their two-car garage," Snape said acidly, standing close to them, tucking his arms imperiously under his robes.

The others saw that lights were twinkling from all the windows, so clearly they were home.

Yaxley took the initiative and burst through the unlocked door of the Tonk's residence, as all the other masked Death Eaters (except Lucius who's visage was visible) bustled onto the threshold.

"'Dromeda…They're here," called a man from somewhere in the house, his voice sounding out hollowly. He was dreading the Death Eaters' arrival.

The Death Eaters filed into a narrow hallway, and then turned, entering a spotlessly clean sitting room.

Lucius went right for the sofa sitting down on it, and beckoning Draco, to sit as well. Lucius inhaled a deep breath, closing his eyes, sarcastically savouring the moment as if it was blissful, but really disgusted.

A man with fair-hair and a big belly came in the room, with his arm around his wife. The woman looked just like Bellatrix Lestrange, as they were sisters. But as Andromeda Tonks came closer, her hair sparkled in the lamps of the sitting room, as a softer brown than Bellatrix's jet-black hair. And the witch's eyes were kind, and wider than Bellatrix's.

"This…shack reeks like a shit-hole…I don't know how a pure-blood could have displaced herself to be living in it for so long…," purred Lucius Malfoy like the usual pompous aristocrat he is.

Bellatrix's cold hands were grasping the sofa from behind, and her heavily-lidded dark eyes narrowed maliciously on her sister. "You traitorous rat, 'Dromeda! How could you marry a piece of muggle skum?…"

And she indicated Ted Tonks with her wand.

"Shut-up, nasty Nazi bigot," mouthed off, Ted Tonks.

"What? What do you mean...calling me by this "Nazi" term?," said Bellatrix, clearly fussed, yet not sure whether to be offended or not.

"Ever hear of World War II, Bellatrix?," said Snape, his lip curling, glad he knew something the dominant, arrogant psychopath did not.

Bellatrix did not answer, but she frowned, opening her mouth confused.

"It was a war waged by muggles in this century...In some ways we can be compared with the Nazis...,"

"Enough with this history lesson, on the muggles. Utter blasphemy for us to talk of them...," Yaxley sneered contemptuously.

All of the Death Eaters rounded on Snape, eyeing him angrily now, and it was like he was an alien creature. He wasn't really part of them, if he knew so much about muggles. But they all knew he was half-blood.

"...We have some very important questions for you," intercepted Selwyn. 

"We're ready for whatever...," said Andromeda, again calm, but demurely.

Some of the Death Eaters perched on top of the two delicate tables next to an aspidistra plant. The table creaked as Crabbe Sr. and Goyle Sr. shifted their overweight bodies on the table, barely supporting them.

Yaxley said, "We know you abetted Harry Potter. Your home held the portkey for him to escape…Where did Potter go precisely"?

"We don't know," lied Andromeda perfectly calm.

"You are a filthy blood-traitor and a liar," said Bellatrix and she delivered, "Crucio!"

Andromeda fell on her knees to the carpet, writhing uncontrollably, with long, drawn out screams. Bellatrix laughed insanely as she continued torturing her sister.

Mulciber, Macnair and Jugson ganged up on her husband, Ted.

"Let us see the muggle break under pressure…," said Mulciber.

"Crucio!," they said wretchedly, all three of them at once. Ted Tonks rolled on the ground as if on fire, then they relinquished the curse, ordering him to reveal the information he had on Potter.

Meanwhile, Bellatrix was screaming, "Give into it now, Dromeda! I know you haven't got it in you to resist! Or shall I prolong this... Torture your brains out, like I did to the Longbottoms?"

"Please…Bella. I can't give you anything pertinent…Stop," she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Lucius was sitting back relaxed on the sofa, grasping the serpent handle of his cane…

"No…I have a better idea…," Lucius announced smoothly.

Bellatrix looked down at Lucius, stopping.

"She will…drag her sorry self over to me, and suck…my so-called other wand," and he pointed at his crotch with a devious little smile.

"Never! Will I perform sex acts in coercion!," Andromeda shrieked courageously.

"Ah…but you will, nasty blood-traitor. You will do everything we say...If not, you watch your husband…DIE," Malfoy added, deadly serious.

He wasn't really planning on killing them, as they were not permitted to, as they could be useful later, even if they couldn't extract any information out. Yet the desire to kill them was strong, and Lucius felt it good to get his aggression out through domination, albeit in a sexual way.

Andromeda wiped the sweat off from above her lips, with the back of her sleeve. She then hurtled herself over to Lucius, trying not to grovel at his feet too much.

Lucius undid the belt of his robes, revealing his rather large, juicy member. He was confident, and did not care that it was on display and all would see it. He thought they would be jealous of it's size, anyway.

Bellatrix watched shrewdly and chuckled under her breath, remembering her recent act of raping Lucius Malfoy, her brother-in-law. Perhaps he thought this was a way of compensating his lost feelings of manhood from the other day. Either way, she was definitely telling Narcissa this at home, tonight.

Bellatrix eyed the muggle husband, Ted who looked to be panicking, deciding whether to fight or not.

She addressed him matter-of-factly, "The Dark Lord's reign has only just begun, muggle. Your death may not be imminent…yet I assure, you shall be put in your rightful place, either death or enslavement."

"But we must still torture her, Lucius. Perhaps, given these new orders she will divulge…" came in Severus's calm, deep voice, ignoring Bellatrix.

"Yes…you are to go along with my idea, Severus. I'm sure you're quite capable of fucking her up the ass?"

"Ah…Beautifully," said Snape, with amusement. He was very much in the act playing along. Yet there was a part of him that did not relish it, at the thought of Lily Potter, but then a part of him was still interested in the dark side of erotic sex and magic.

Ted Tonks at these words began to gurgle and turn green at the thought of witnessing this lewd scene, made worse because he had never given his wife anal sex. It was unchartered territory.

"No lubricants for you, my dear," whispered Snape, sadistically in Andromeda's soft brown hair, as he opened up the clothing under his robes. She could almost hear the other cock spring out from behind. Andromeda felt more alert and alive than ever, she was just a piece of meat to be feasted on by them.

Draco, watched, his mouth opened wide in fright, unable to look at his father anymore.

"Draco…She's going to do you next….Oh, will you be a man and relax about it?," complained Lucius, when he turned his head, seeing his son's horror.

Snape put a heavy hand on Andromeda's back, pushing her down and with the other, lifted her robes up, revealing black cotton knickers. He jerked them off, to her knees, where she was kneeling. But her head was raised, tantalizing close to the tip of Lucius's penis that Bellatrix had recently nipped when she had raped him the other night.

Snape shoved himself inside the woman's partition between her buttocks, as agressively and mercilessly as he could.

Andromeda moaned, from pain. But Lucius jabbed her in the stomach with the end of his cane, not hard but enough that it hurt. "Hop to it, blood-traitor…."

And she began sucking his warm testacles, like a popsicle. And Lucius could feel himself slowly, but surely getting hard, and the ejaculation that was sure to come soon. 

Bellatrix screamed in delight at the entertainment, and whirled her wand, again, crying, "CRUCIO!"

Andromeda screamed the most blood-curdling, heart-pounding throes of agony, Snape meanwhile was holding her down, by grabbing fistfuls of her hair, riding her ass with his cock, like a horse that needed breaking.

Ted lunged forward wildly, half-sobbing and screaming, "Dromeda! No Dromeda!"

But one of the Death Eaters was too quick. Yaxley and Pettigrew and Rosier stunned him in less than a second, and he fell back, immobile on the floor.

For several minutes, Bellatrix yapped about giving over Harry Potter or at least his whereabouts. Meanwhile, Snape jerked himself in, and then out of her opening.

"You do this 'Dromeda…and I'll forgive you, but not your husband..You want mercy now, don't you? You think you'd rather die than endure this any longer. So tell me where Harry Potter went the night you moved him and we shall take him to the Dark Lord. And I shall forgive you, if you join us…," she rambled, without even really thinking.

After a couple of minutes, they gave up or at least they were sick of their antics. To them it was a game, nothing cruel really. It was hilarious though, a great sport. It brought them back to the old days, in the first great wizarding war, where raping a normal part of their raids.

Lucius straightened his robes out, all finished with the oral sex. He seemed to have forgotten the idea that Draco should go next. Snape, pulled himself out of her anus, and Andromeda burst out, no longer screaming, but hyperventilating.

But she tasted in her mouth, a good tablespoon of Lucius's cum. Loking up at him, she spat the cum into his two, steely gray eyes.

Lucius wiped it off his hand with revulsion. But Andromeda got up too quickly after spitting his cum in his face from the oral sex. She wasn't going to let him kick her around like the house-elves she knew he mistreated.

"We've had enough…We've been everywhere…Next place, headquarters," said Snape, trying to his exhaustion.

And without a farewell, or any exchanges of glances the Death Eaters trooped out of the Tonk's sitting room to disapparate outside. Ted was still lying on the carpet, inert. The force of three stunning spells lasted longer than the usual duration because the power of three tripled it. 

Okay that was a little outrageous and crazy…I hope it did not seem stupid.  
WE WILL BE BACK AT MALFOY MANOR AND TO STAY THERE for the rest of the story IN THE NEXT CHAPTER….but first I must show what happened with the torture of Dolohov and Rowle the night before the party…as well as other things between Lucius/Narcissa/Draco/Bella/Voldemort


	18. Empty Spaces

Chapter Seven: Empty Spaces

Narcissa Malfoy had not gotten dressed today. She was chowing down on berry desserts. One of the many house-elves had sent a plate up for her earlier. She sighed, but not from contentment. She was particularly wistful today, what with being cooped up alone as all the others who were Death Eaters went out. The only company she had was her pet bird, a Fwooper. It was a magical creature with vibrant pink plumage, and a silencing charm periodically placed on it. This is because Fwoopers are known to have a squawk that makes listeners lose their sanity. That was actually how she was feeling at the moment, like she was going to lose her mind.

Her husband, Lucius, of course did not get to go to the Ministry, as Voldemort had not allowed him to play his part. What was worse, Narcissa was dreading tomorrow's celebration of the coup and she was worried about Draco as usual.

She heard a knock on the door. Because Voldemort had taken over the Master bedroom, she could not be sure if what was her husband, or another Death Eater, or worse it could still be Voldemort. Although, Voldemort was supposed to have left to go on some secret mission, otherwise Narcissa wouldn't dare be in here, or let alone be able to get in if he was.

She rose reluctantly from a velvet upholstered chaise in front of a long mirror. She opened the door a tiny crack, inwardly praying it wasn't the Dark Lord.

"Oh it's you Bella," she said calmly.

Bellatrix's dark eyes shined and she peered down at her younger sister anxiously, "Let us talk, Cissy…It's been a long day. We do so need to catch up."

"I suppose you may…" Narcissa consented, widening the gap.

Bellatrix scurried in the room, looking around with wonder. It had been Voldemort's private quarters, until today, so naturally Bellatrix is curious to say the least. And who knew how long it would be until he came back? It could be perhaps as long as a month. Nobody knew, for Voldemort did not trust to confide in any of them.

Bellatrix saw the king-sized bed, the covers were plush, but plain black, as Voldemort had changed their color along with the bed's drapery. Yet it was an opulant atmosphere with a gigantic chandelier and paintings depicting legends of Merlin on the walls, framed by intricate gold paneling. Tapestries lined the entrance into the bathroom and closets of the chamber. And there was a balcony that looked outside towards the tower where the Veela are being imprisoned. At the other side was a bay window, with the view of their lake.

Bellatrix seemed to float. Approaching, the bed, she kicked her heels up, and tossed onto the perfectly made bed.

"Cissy…I am going to sleep here tonight, in our Lord's resting place," she announced confidently sure it was her right to have it.

"Tut," Cissy complained. "Lucius and I are sleeping here! In our own bed! We do not know when he will return…," and Narcissa paused, resisting her urge to add, "hopefully never" for Voldemort to be back. "But regardless, if it's prudent or not, we are occupying the master chamber."

Bellatrix's eyes flashed dangerously, and she bit her tongue. Like a female snake she exhaled a hiss. But she would drop it, because she needed to work with Narcissa to get what it is that she is after.

Bellatrix rolled in the sheets, taking in blissful breaths, smelling them and rubbing them against her smooth, yet slightly dry skin.

Narcissa ignored her, going back to sit in the velvet cushioned chair at her dresser. She picked up another berry to eat from the platter and then put it down suddenly. Intently, she scrutinized her appearance in the mirror. Then she looked down at her silver chest of jewelry. Opening the lid, she began taking out the jewelry, soaking each piece in a potion to clean them. It was to prepare for the celebration tomorrow evening. 

Bellatrix, suddenly coming out of whatever wild enjoyment she was getting, laughed and then screeched, "Cissy…You will never guess what happened…I saw our sister, Andromeda a couple of hours ago with that parasite I shall not name. Anyway…You will not believe who decided to rape her…"

At the word "rape" Narcissa's willowly neck snapped up from immersing her jewels in the potion.

"Who?…That awful man, Severus Snape," Narcissa said off-handedly. She would not admit to Bellatrix, that she secretely admired him, especially after Snape had decided to make the vow to help save her son. Narcissa was smart enough, to know Bella and Snape did not get along, and she did not wish to reveal that she herself happened to like the man.

"Yes, Snape! He raped her," Bellatrix yelped dramatically. "Meanwhile…," she continued eagerly. She suddenly jumped off the high-rise bed, and came closer across the carpet to where Narcissa was.

"At the same time Snape was banging her up the anus…Lucius had a hand in it. He forced 'Dromeda to suck his-"

"I don't believe it," Narcissa brusquely interrupted. "I don't believe you, Bella," she repeated coldly.

Yet she was perfectly sure it was true. But Narcissa knew her sister well enough, that she did not even have to turn to know a gloating smile would be on her face. Bellatrix seemed to be getting enjoyment at the pain and hurt this caused Narcissa.

They did not speak to each other for several moments. Until Narcissa asked, "But where is Lucius now? Do you know?"

"Oh, yes. He's here, probably getting those lowly henchmen to do the guard duties. You know, to track down the Order…I heard a few of them have already been stationed outside Grimmauld Place."

Bellatrix's gaze turned to the dresser looking greedily at the jewels Narcissa was dropping one by one in the potion, in a basin with runes decorated on it. Bellatrix's eyes widened.

"We must find you something special for the Dark Lord's victory party tomorrow. I already have the dressrobe for myself. I think I'll give you a makeover!," she burst out impulsively. "You need one for your dancing," she said, eyeing Narcissa's silverly hair, sprinkled gray.

Narcissa said, "I'm no fool. I know I'm going to be mocked and humiliated at this soiree or whatever...no matter how beautiul I happen to be. Do me a favour, Bella: Don't you dare play along with it, too. Don't you remember how insulted we all were a few weeks ago?…Of the incident where the Dark Lord so cruelly jeered to Draco, 'will you babysit the cubs?'"

"Yes, I remember and it does not bother me," Bellatrix lied dismissively.

" I surely won't sleep well tonight, knowing the image I worked so hard to maintain will be ruined. I am forced to throw it all away, by doing a dance with slaves!," Narcissa raved mournfully.

She picked up another berry delicacy, about to eat it. "I binged all day on delicacies. I won't fit into my dressrobes." And she threw the little cream berry back on the silver plate.

"No, you'll fit into them. I know just what you're going to wear, Cissy," said Bellatrix, suddenly smiling widely.

Narcissa swiveled back in her seat, glaring at her sister. But she did not say anything.

"You were the beautiful one. Always, you were the special one," Bellatrix decreed, with a kind of hint that she was not happy with this truth.

Narcissa rolled her eyes, facing her sister now. She knew just what she meant, she had always been the little princess of the family. She was starting to get the vibe that Bellatrix was jealous.

"Perhaps I was...," Narcissa conveyed reflectively. "Maybe it's why the Dark Lord thinks me worthy of him. What were you ever but his dirty little wench? I can see why he doesn't respect you…," Narcissa said bravely. She was fed up with everything else Bellatrix had said before.

Bellatrix fully incensed now, had her hands curled into fists and she seethed, "I'm going to get back at you, Narcissa for taking him from me. You won't even know where or when—but I'm warning you, it is coming!"

As if her purpose in entering to see Narcissa was finished, Bellatrix started to stride out of the master bedroom. 

Out of nowhere, a voice literally boomed out of the very walls of the entire dwelling, throughout all sixty-three expansive rooms, "WHO CALLED ME BACK?!"

Narcissa gripped the edge of the dresser quaking. It was Lord Voldemort, using a powerful sonorous charm. His high, cold, clear voice echoed off the walls of the master bedchamber and everywhere in the manor, again with deliberate force, "If this lacks reason, you suffer my retribution!"

Narcissa quaked at this words, motionless with fright. Then Bella's clammy hand was grabbing her wrist, and she somehow was being moved. Down the grand staircase they strode a moment later, in which Voldemort did not speak again. Or at least, he did not speak in a magically amplified proportion.

Narcissa's breath came out in gasps, hyperventilating. She was prescient enough to be aware of the extent of his anger. Perhaps not the rage as terrible as it was to behold when he discovered the diary was destroyed. But Narcissa knew enough to judge it to be that their Lord was in a dreadful temper.

The next chapter will show something horrific regarding exactly what I think Voldemort probably did to Rowle/Dolohov. It is is not crucio, because it is hinted in canon he did exercise other alternatives in ways to punish his Death Eaters in book seven.  
please be patient...there is only 1 more update before the party begins. This party will be titled when I get there, "Triumph of the Dark Lord".


	19. Empty Spaces 2

Continuation of….

Chapter Seven: Empty Spaces

Bellatrix and Narcissa pattered lightly to the bottom of the immense main staircase, lined by stone busts of the Malfoy lineage. Down a narrow corridor they rushed. The walls were purple and so was the carpeting, with more visuals of the ancient Malfoys inside portraits.

A door was ajar with a slither of firelight, casting shadow on the hallway's ornate carpet. They could hear the crackle of logs in the marble fireplace inside, and also a faint hissing sound inside the Drawing room.

But other then that, it was quiet and so Bellatrix assumed that all the other Death Eaters who did not live at headquarters must have left just prior to Voldemort's arrival. 

Narcissa's hand's trembled and she reached towards the double doors. Bellatrix slapped her hand back, shaking her head vigorously, stopping her sister from bolting the door.

They heard Voldemort speak then, "Harry Potter escapes from a muggle café and you call me back with nothing? How very valuable to me…There is no question as to why you lost Gibbon in friendly fire anymore, Rowle!"

Voldemort referred to the Death Eater named Gibbon who had died during the battle that ensued after Snape had killed Dumbledore at Hogwarts last June.

"My Lord…We think we responded to the Taboo…," came out Dolohov meekly. Yet his voice was still very deep.

Meanwhile, Peter Pettigrew came trotting up the corridor from his job keeping watch over the kidnapped Wandmaker, Ollivander. His watery eyes glazed over Narcissa, and Bellatrix, and then he cupped a hand around his ear, listening at the door as well.

Dolohov and Rowle avoided eye contact with their master, looking anywhere but at those gleaming red eyes. Voldemort's eyes still managed to lock onto theirs though, and he only had to look for a second for Voldemort to know exactly what had transpired.

Voldemort let out a cynical laugh and said, "So?…. You were stunned by a friend of Harry Potter's were you not Rowle? As well as you Dolohov? And yet, you are not aware of this?"

"No, Master," Rowle answered, ashamed. He could not feel more stupid than he did at this point in time, than ever in his life.

"That is because your short-term memory was obliviated by some worthless mudblood…Draco! Demonstrate your skill with the curciatus for us."

Draco stepped across the long room lit only by the firelight and stood before the two men who were in such terrible trouble. Draco looked slight, standing next to the huge blonde wizard, and the brutal, battle-scarred Dolohov.

The pale young man took his wand out, and without looking at the men he started, "Crucio!"

The great blonde Death Eater dropped, screaming and writhing. And then Dolohov, joined him, as Draco cast the curse onto him next.

"More, Rowle, or shall we end it and feed you to Nagini? Lord Voldemort is not so sure that he will forgive this time….You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure….Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!"

A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face. Draco was gaunt and petrified as he continued to be put to use by Voldemort, being forced to punish the other followers.

Lucius was standing in the background in a corner of the room, watching.

Something heavy was sliding along the floor from outside. Narcissa darted to the other end of the hallway, arms covering her face. The snake, Nagini came slithering into the Drawing Room. Bellatrix did not even wince, as it's snout face came up to Bellatrix's, rearing itself, and then crossed through the narrow opening between the doors.

Draco relinquished his powers over the two wizards, and they stopped screaming almost immediately. Voldemort looked towards the drawing room door, as if he could sense their presence, as he actually could do so through advanced Legilimency.

He said, "Come out of the hallway now, and I shall show what happens to those residents of Malfoy Manor who are so foolishly negligent."

Narcissa scampered inside, clutching herself at the shoulders, hiding behind Bellatrix. Independently, Pettigrew followed opening and closing his mechanical silver hand, as if twiddling his thumbs.

They could see in the iridescent reds and oranges of firelight, Voldemort. His eyelids were red with fatigue, or perhaps still flushed with rage. He was still extremely angry. But it was odd to see an enraged man like that, and not evening having a hint of color on his meatless cheekbones. Where there should have been eyebrows, there were solely deep set shadows….

At once, Voldemort orderd dangerously, his eyes glittering, a clear, calculating look flashing, "Stand…I said stand up…."

About to resort to the Imperius curse, both men got up on wobbling feet, feeling quite unbalanced after their punishment.

"I am not finished with you yet…." He thought how crucio was not enough, no longer adequate. He needed to really punish them, and what better than his own secret worst fears? Things like the pressing silence of complete darkness would work efficiently.

"Dolohov and Rowle: remove all clothing…and give your wands and the robes to me."

They gaped at their master in shock. Dolohov's twisted, brutal features turned to look at his partner, Thorfinn Rowle.

Then they complied, until they were standing with their backs warming from the flames, naked. 

They placed their robes at Voldemort's feet, and then backed away, with a mixture of awe and terror.

"Consider the rest of you warned: What shall happen if you call me for nothing, or fail miserably at an order I give, revealing your ineptitude at serving me properly? You shall be thrown into isolation…or what is the phrase? Solitary confinement."

Voldemort paused to make it sink in for everyone, and his ferocious eyes clasped onto Bellatrix, Lucius, Wormtail, Draco, and Narcissa in turn. Draco and Narcissa were so drained of color, they looked like they were going to faint.

"Now out of here, Dolohov and Rowle. I will not have anything to do with your pathetic selves. You have been worthless for Lord Voldemort and must suffer the consequences."

Dolohov and Rowle, turned leaving the Drawing room. Bellatrix, watching intently, full of interest.

Voldemort, his wand pressing into their backs, led Dolohov, and Rowle through the corridors.

At the main staircase, Dolohov, and Rowle labored up the steps, as if their ankles were chained. They were resigned to the belief that they could not escape their fate. 

Voldemort did not speak to them at all during the trek up to a twisting corridor where guest bedrooms were mostly located. He stopped at a secluded, cramped space between two mean looking statues.

The door was blast open, to a cob-webbed, ancient broom cupboard. It looked like it had not been used for centuries. 

He shoved Rowle inside the hole, his spidery hand actually pushing the huge blonde man's chest back. He then closed the tiny, cramped space immediately, casting several spells on it to prevent it from opening.

"When will you let me out?," bawled the fully-grown man, his voice muffled through the stone enclosure.

"Consider you'll die in there," Voldemort answered mercilessly.

"Your tomb is next, Dolohov." Without a backwards glance Voldemort left Thorfinn Rowle to his cries of misery, to lonliness welling up, growing into increasing panic. 

Voldemort surmised with hubris that nobody needed to keep watch. They were deprived of their wands, and it was not possible to apparate out of the manor's property, either. He felt righteous in his actions, if only to subject them to a taste, just a taste of the lost opportunity and loss of control he felt at his lost time to seek the Elder wand….

After imprisoning Dolohov, he would stalk back to the Master bedroom, to be left alone with his ruminations. 

Note: A few sentences here are from JK Rowling's book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. For I am basing this scene exactly on what happened. I just wanted to put that on the record. But again, I own nothing.


	20. Empty Spaces 3

Continuation and final installment of…:

Chapter Seven: Empty Spaces

Later that evening, Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Bellatrix were still sitting in the Drawing Room. Ealier, Wormtail had been yelled at by Malfoy to go back to keeping watch over their prisoner, Ollivander. Voldemort had not emerged from the master bedroom.

Draco and Lucius were in the two arm-chairs in front of the fireplace. Narcissa was sitting rather gingerly on Lucius's knee. All four of them seemed to have a mood of dreariness, and fatigue. None were too happy, except maybe Bellatrix. She was smiling to her herself, while glancing in the gilded mirror above the marble mantlepiece every other moment or so.

"We must not ever call him, unless we have Potter…The Dark Lord will surely punish even for the slightest mistake," Narcissa crossly complained.

"True…," Bellatrix responded, nodding profusely. "Any of us perishes if we step out of line or out of his favour. But don't worry about me…"

Lucius bit his lip, looking deeply pensive. It was as if he was trying his best to figure out which strategy he should play to make things right with his master again.

Behind them they heard incessant scrubbing noises, and the sound of a short mop being moved across the floor. Several house-elves were in the drawing room, scrubbing the floor, working like crazy for the celebration to begin in less than twenty-four hours.

"Bella, told me…what you did to 'Dromeda, Lucius! That's fine …Tomorrow I'll get my share of the infedelity …So tell me, did you like having her dirty, blood-traitor lips on your cock, Lucius?"

Lucius gnashed his teeth in rage, and grabbed Narcissa's arm rather roughly. He felt like hitting her.

Narcissa knew what Lucius, was thinking of doing, yet she eyed him defiantly. "Well, what are we as a couple going to do? There isn't anything we can do…," she answered her own query, resignedly.

"Yes, there is. We must persevere through this for the sake of the pure-blood progenies…and if that entails getting to unleash my desires with a little raping here and there…So be it," Lucius growled.

Narcissa, still on his lap, swung her hand up and slammed it across his face, which appeared waxy, and yelllowish in the firelight.

"Good night!," Narcissa announced to Bella and Draco, after rising off her husband's lap, and with heels clicking, she departed.

Lucius did not go after his wife, he did not have the energy to. He slumped in the large armchair, staring depressed into the flames of the marble fireplace.

Draco was still gazing in the direction his mother had left, looking startled by her ourburst, and trying to figure out what the infedility was about.

Lucius felt bitter about Voldemort taking his wife for his own mere pleasure, and angry that Voldemort had even taken up his manor as headquarters. Lucius was tempted with the wild urge, to try to throw Voldemort out, even if it was futile to try.

"I've planned a shrine for the Dark Lord tomorrow…it will be in this very drawing room, Lucius. So don't go balking about it, when you see hundreds of candles being placed in here during the party. Do not tell…it is to be my surprise for him."

Lucius frowned, and shook his head incredulously at his sister-in-law. "You just don't get it do you?"

"What don't I understand?," she replied fiercely.

"Snape is the most faithful as of now. He is the Dark Lord's right hand man. Not you, Bellatrix. Snape killed Dumbledore, and what did you do, other than murder your scapegoat cousin?"

"I AM-," Bellatrix voiced vehemently.

"Your what?… No more useful than I," Lucius cut in disenchantingly. 

"And what about me, father?" cut in Draco.

"You're in it like I am Draco. For proper ambition…and not merely for the servitude…" And Lucius eyed Bellatrix, victoriously.

"We'll see how satisfied our Lord is with the impending, "Festival of the Pure-Bloods," Bellatrix noted.

And feeling unswervingly loyal to Lord Voldemort, Bellatrix left the room proudly, head held high.

Yet Lucius's loyalty was wavering so much so, that sometimes he felt like giving up. There was only a hope that maybe this would benefit him economically in the long run. To make matters worse, he did not like how Voldemort's punishments were becoming much more brutal than ever before….

He glanced up, looking around at everything he had ever owned. It now seemed like junk compared to the loss of self-respect that had come with joining Voldemort. Not to mention the estranged relations with his wife…he was torn between pride and greed…

And as this story goes on...you will see more of the burden Draco carries...the poor young man...caught in the middle of it all! The next scene will be the start of the party...The party is going to be maybe a dozen updates, probably more...


	21. Triumph of the Dark Lord

I am finally up to the beginning of the very, very exciting part! It feels so good to say that! I really feel joy…But…the night is young. There will be much to tell…

Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord

The two men stared in front of the full-length mirror, appraising themselves. Lucius had an urge to clap Voldemort as a congratulatory gesture on the back, but then hesitated, thinking it most unwise to even lay a finger on him without permission.

Two house-elves, who served like valets were hovering at their knees below, looking up at the two wizards who had just finished dressing. 

"Those are the finest, most expensive, dressrobes in Great Britain, My Lord."

Voldemort had taken them from Lucius Malfoy a few minutes ago without thanking him. Now he glanced for a second in the mirror. He nodded slowly with approval to his follower's words, fiddling with the collar. With his wand, he added further embellishments, making the robes even more impressive.

A high, plain black collar appeared, covering the base of the back of Voldemort's bald head. Then he added a ruffled, black necktie so large, it went from the top of his chest, at the beginning of his neck, all the way to the edge at his waist. In a way, it looked as if Voldemort had grown a beard. Voldemort liked this, as it was a pleasant reminder to how he had surpassed what Dumbledore had been. 

Other than that Lord Voldemort was going to look beyond dignified tonight. In the impressive, ancient robes, to which he added his own flairs. Along with the puffed-out shoulders, the tinny silver and emerald studded forearm links and the elegant droops at the end of the sleeves. Behind him, woven like a tapestry, was a black cape with embroidered green and silver moons. He would stand before them all, tall in his dragon-hide boots, like the most god-like, glory-seeking general at war.

Lucius actually smiled, as he watched Voldemort primly regard himself at varying angles. He was filled with happiness that his Lord was satisfied. 

"And the interior is of Graphorn leather, My Lord which repels most jinxes and hexes," Lucius explained ardently interested in fashion.

Voldemort gave an irritable twitch and coldly responded, "I do not require protection."

Lucius gulped nervously, but did not answer, thinking it best not to say anything. In any case, it seemed Voldemort had soon forgotten this slightly cumbersome aspect of his dressings for the celebration.

Lucius bent down to where a male house- elf, was observing with starry, black eyes and was holding a tray of men's toiletries. He picked up a comb, and gave it one last run through his sleek, straight blonde hair. He had worked very hard to get rid of the straggly look today.

Voldemort left the bedroom, that Lucius and Narcissa had taken up, proceeding to the Drawing Room for the dinner party.

Lucius, after spraying some cologne from a brown glass container, that the male-house elf handed him, darted to the corner to retrieve his pimp cane. He placed his wand, inside it, with a loud snap, and then twisted it shut. Nobody, would thankfully see that his wand wasn't the same one he had possessed before. And yet, he certainly could not host a party without his pimp cane…


	22. Triumph of the Dark Lord 2

Continuation of….

Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord

The impressive wrought-iron gates that barred the entrance of Malfoy Manor swung open inwardly as several Death Eaters made the standard salute, raising their left arms. A minute later, after going down the driveway, they went straight into the house, entering into a large, decorated foyer. The several, included Severus Snape who strode past, two others walking at a languid pace. It was Selwyn, accompanying the woman who had been the Bonder to swear in Pius Thickness yesterday.

"Aunt Dolores…You really don't belong here," said the man in charge of the Snatchers in a coaxing manner. Besides controlling the Snatchers, Selwyn also held a significant post in Magical Law Enforcement.

"Yes, I do, dear. At any gathering of my fellow pure-bloods, you will be sure to have my name to it…Or else!," Umbridge demanded.

And she began to ascend the wide steps of the main staircase, until she came to the first landing. She turned a corner and went down a winding corridor on the second floor. Selwyn, in his golden embroidered Snatcher robes, followed her reluctantly.

"Aunt Dolores!…You're only gate-crashing…You were not invited to the Malfoy's party…," he called after her, knowing his arguing was hopeless.

He had yelled this after her down the twisting corridor. Just losing sight of her for a few seconds, and he had lost his aunt to the gigantic layout of the house. Selwyn sighed, and then turned on his heel, thinking it was only for the better that he had lost his aunt, Dolores Umbridge. It was not that they did not get along well, in fact their relationship was rather cordial. It was actually that he could not possibly explain to Voldemort what she was doing at their small, intimate dinner portion of the party, which was only for the Dark Lord's closest followers, the ones who had made it into his inner, inner circle.

In a hurry, he rushed back down the main staircase…He knew that Voldemort did not like to be kept waiting. 

Meanwhile…Dolores Umbridge roamed the mansion with an oddly vacant expression, clad in lurid pink robes, and a huge bow was in her hair.

She took out of her robes, a heavy golden locket, with a serpentine 'S' engraved on it. As if she had done it many times before she pressed it to her ears, listening to the sound of a mechanical heart beating inside. She did not know it, but the soul of the Horcrux began to possess her, once again, as she roamed the property…Lost and unaware of herself….

Note: The first part of this party...only has a few people at the dinner party..but the second half has hundreds, so don't worry...everyone else arrived later...

Okay...so Umbridge is in this...Strange, huh? But it does fit. Umbridge said the Selwyns are related to her...and perhaps she is telling the truth. And we know she had the locket in DH. This is kind of ironic, that she is with the locket, so close to Voldemort...if only he knew! Umbridge will have a hilarious little part in the fanfic later! Next scene is the dinner party.


	23. Triumph of the Dark Lord 3

Continuation of…:

Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord 

The murmur of polite conversation could be heard inside the Drawing Room. The gigantic crystal chandelier spread luminescent light onto the embossed tabletop, spreading ambience all around. There was no warmth to be had from the fireplace, as it was not being utilized for this evening. Only Dolohov and Rowle were mute and withdrawn, staring with melancholy expressions into their laps. 

They heard deliberate footsteps. Lord Voldemort entered his presence as powerful as it always had been. In acknowledgment, the Death Eaters rose at once.

Voldemort did not say anything, but his gait was sure, his demeanor stolid, as he took his place at the head of the long table. Once he was seated, they sat down again. 

There was a pause for a moment, with Voldemort looking around at them, until he spoke smoothly, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen."

"First, allow me to welcome, our guest: The former Minister for Magic, who as of yesterday, resigned. His death is the reason we celebrate."

Directly opposite to Voldemort, at the other end of the table, Rufus Scrimgeour hung, upside down, bound strangely by nothing but magic. The lifeless frame was inert and the swarthy face hauntingly stared at them. The eyes remained open from the Avada Kedavra curse.

Most of the Death Eaters nodded, or gave grunts of recognition, turning their head's slightly sideways, to look to where Voldemort indicated. Except Draco, who gave a few intermittent glances, and Narcissa who sat rigid and impassive, staring at the wall.

Voldemort continued to look at the corpse, staring at it, apparently lost in thought. 

"Did you enjoy those nightmares about me coming to kill you, old Rufus?," whispered Voldemort to himself.

Voldemort was referring to something he saw while he was doing Legilimency on Scrimgeour's mind. He had seen that the minister had been having nightmares about the inevitable day of his assassination.

Before Voldemort could continue, Snape bravely interrupted, "So…Was the mission undertaken last night, successful, My Lord?"

Voldemort turned his head jerkily, looking to his immediate right where Severus Snape sat beside him. The burning red eyes had a fleeting look of paranoia as he answered bitterly, "I was not…"

Snape, unfortunately did not hear about how enraged Voldemort was from being called back, and so Snape did not know how dangerous it was to bring up anything related to it. But before the subject could be pursued any further, two champagne bottles came floating through the open doors, and landed placidly on the marble table.

Severus Snape, raised an eyebrow, and then took his wand out, and popped the cork of one of the bottles. Malfoy at the same time, hurried to do the same with the other bottle, wrenching his wand out of his cane.

Severus, took Voldemort's glass, and poured his master a drink. Then Snape poured one for himself. The bottle flowed down the line to Bellatrix, who was seated next to Snape.

She glared at Snape, reproachfully as she filled her glass. Bellatrix resented losing the opportunity, to show even the smallest gesture of kindness towards Voldemort. She wanted to pour their Lord's champagne, and more importantly she wanted to be sitting at his right hand side. 

Meanwhile, Lucius, who was at Voldemort's immediate left, poured a glass for Narcissa, and then himself, sending the other bottle floating down his side of the table, towards Draco.

Once everyone, including Dolohov and Rowle at the end of the table, had filled their glasses, with shimmering, golden champagne, Lucius instantly raised his glass, "A toast… to the Dark Lord: May he rise to ever greater heights than 1981. To his return to power and the promise it holds for the future of the magical race…"

Voldemort's mouth parted into something like a smile, but his red, vertically slit eyes showed no emotion. He did not really believe Lucius's anecdote of wishes, for his toast. Voldemort did not trust that Lucius really did relish that Voldemort had returned, greater and more terrible than before.

The table was much too long for everyone to touch each other's glasses, and so the glasses clanked together in groups: Snape, Lucius, Bella at one, Narcissa and Draco shared a toast, then Selwyn, Travers, and Yaxley, and Amycus and Alecto, and finally the feeble attempt of Dolohov and Rowle.

Voldemort did not take part in it, but simply was the first to a take a tiny sip of the sparkling, crisp champagne. He noted on the bottle, directly in front of him, the year "1981" inscribed. He felt more of a dislike of that year than any other, and thought how stupid and inconsiderate they are. Lucius chooses the very year of Lord Voldemort's loss to an infant? 

There was the tiny snap of fingers, and then several house-elves were using magic to sail in dozens of dishes for the feast, landing on the tabletop.

On plates of heavy, real silver the Death Eaters dined with the Dark Lord on a single course of caviar with rare dragon kidney, and rare dragon steak as if it was roast beef. There were roasted potatoes with gravy and other vegetables, and a platter of rye bread and butter. At the center of the table like a lush bush was the centerpiece of exotic fruits, surrounded by cheeses.

The forks and knives, spoons, and glasses had emeralds as big as eggs, along with the Malfoy coat of Arms. For the first few minutes, they generally ate in silence. Dolohov and Rowle ate the fastest, so ravenous after being in solitary confinement for nearly an entire day, and only released by Wormtail, who was made to fetch them right before dinner.

Voldemort seemed to get very little pleasure out of his food. His forked tongue just scarfed the food down, swallowing rapidly. He ate with minimal chewing, and slowly. His eyes roved over to Narcissa, picking at her food.


	24. Triumph of the Dark Lord 4

**Continuation of…**

Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord 

"Narcissa, look at me…Bella reported you have donned a most… erotic apparel underneath your robes. Is she correct?" said Voldemort.

Narcissa forced her azure blue eyes away from her deadpan stare at the opposite wall, obeying Voldemort, and then answered, "Yes-My-Lord."

Bellatrix, lolled her head back, laughing loudly, her dark hair bouncing, with luxurious curls at the tips, that made her appear almost youthful. The witch had let her long hair down for the occasion, and it swept past her shoulders. And she had added to the ceremonial Death Eater robes, an ostentatious red cloak specially for the celebration. But Bellatrix had made a nervous laugh, as she was hiding a lot. Particularly here, she did not want Voldemort to know she had lied to Narcissa. Earlier today, she had lied to her sister, saying that Voldemort was forcing her to wear erotic dressrobes.

In a low, yet jarring tone that carried clearly, Voldemort continued, "Tell me, Narcissa…What's a witch, like you to do, now that Lucius has lost his wand?"

The two of them present with dirty minds, sniggered under their breath, at the abstract implications. The witch, Alecto Carrow, revealed pointy, jagged teeth in a wide smirk. Severus Snape, clever as he is, only smiled slightly.

Lucius was confused, and he answered coldly for his wife, a sour expression pasted on his waxy visage, "I don't know what you mean, My Lord."

Voldemort elaborated, with pronounced explication, "I'm talking about your _other_ wand, Lucius. The wand that bred Draco."

Thumps hit the table, and catcalls in jubilation, from the Death Eaters. Severus Snape had a pleasant, nostalgic sneer, as he had not had sex in a long time. And the great snake reacted to the uproar, opening its mouth wide, hissing angrily. Meanwhile, Narcissa sputtered, dropping her fork, clattering on the silver plate. She felt hot burning tears behind her eyes. She quailed, embarrassed at this joke towards herself, and her family. Reaching under the tabletop, she grabbed Lucius's hand, tightly. Draco, braced himself, straightening up at the sound of his name, fearing he would have to make eye contact if addressed next.

The cruel lipless mouth had stopped moving, a hair-raising, hollow echo hissed on, "….Shall we substitute for a new, more powerful wand, perhaps?"

Suddenly there was a terrible, piercing scream issuing from their feet below. The scream followed with other cries of mournful, moaning tirades. Some of the witches and wizards at the table barely prevented lurching, at the startling disturbance. Voldemort remained perfectly motionless, his red-eyes unblinking, as the sound of the screams continued.

The screams continued for several seconds, until Wormtail had done whatever was necessary to keep their prisoner, Ollivander quiet. During this, the great snake, Nagini crawled up Voldemort's chair, it's body the thickness of a man's thigh. It rose, seemingly endlessly up Voldemort's lap, and rested upon his shoulder's.

Once the screams had subsided, the mounting hilarity at the Malfoy's harassment and, insult to their marriage continued to cresendo.

With one word the mood was broken by Voldemort, intoning sternly, "Enough." And the humor died at once.

Stroking the snout of the snake, Voldemort face contorted eerily, looking towards Narcissa.

"Blood purity, as in the Malfoys' marriage is the essential ideology to inculcate into the public. We must recapitulate old traditions, whilst removing the opposition."

Bellatrix nodded, tears filling her eyes, but not of hurt like Narcissa's had been, rather tears of gratitude. "Yes, My Lord. We shall proclaim your truth to the entire world for you."

And, Bellatrix, tears rolling down her cheeks, stared at the hundreds of crystal stoppers inside the glass cabinet. She had an urge to guzzle down a bottle of ancient, pure-blood. She watched the crystal bottles, gleam in the luminescent light, as the crystal of the bottles, actually matched the crystal chandelier.

It had been like a chess game. His purpose at demeaning Narcissa, had primarily been a means to pursue the subject of blood purity. Yet it was also a subconscious inferiority complex about sexuality mixed with the fact that the back of his mind was currently concentrating on the Elder Wand.

But now, Voldemort returned to his thoughts, looking upon the corpse of Rufus Scrimgeour hanging directly opposite him at the other end.

Without warning, he raised his wand.

A tiny flick, and then the corpse dropped, with an unceremonious thud onto the marble table. The Death Eaters did not jump back, nor did Draco fall off his chair. They had remembered the similar procedure, with Charity Burbage, and so, anticipated what would come, eventually. Yet, some still drew a breath in from nerves, and silverware was knocked off the surface, skidding over the edge at Scrimgeour's remains plummeted.

"_Dinner, Nagini_," spoke Voldemort in parseltongue.

And at these words, the snake slithered down the table, eagerly reaching, it's serpentine body inching forward for its treat. At the same time, as Voldemort, spoke, Severus Snape had risen from his chair at Voldemort's right. He was the first to rise of the thirteen living souls present at the table, meaning as Trelawney's superstition goes he should be first to die. Snape did not even register this, and nor did the others.

House-elves hurried into the Drawing room, clearing off the eating utensils and plates and dishes, and food trying to ignore the snake, as it chowed down on it's own feast.

Voldemort did not rise, like everyone else. But he pushed his chair back, and called ringingly, but with boredom, "WORMTAIL! Your assistance…Now!"

A short, balding man entered from the corridor several seconds later. It wheezed, "Yes, master?"

Voldemort did not reply, but grabbed Pettigrew's arm. He lifted back the sleeve. With his wand, pointing at the Dark Mark, which was like a vivid red tattoo, it morphed into a burning black colour. He had summoned the rest of his Death Eaters for the evening.

"Go, and greet the others. They need you standing there, in order to enter the property without the trouble of conferring with the gate."

And with that, Pettigrew dashed away.


	25. Triumph of the Dark Lord 5

**Continuation of….**

Chapter Eight: Triumph of the Dark Lord

Peter Pettigrew stood rooted to the spot, at the entrance to the front of the perimeter of the property of Malfoy Manor. He was holding his arm up at salute so that the wrought-iron gate would remain open because of course, he had a Dark Mark.

Hundreds were dropping out of the sky in small groups, arriving by port-keys. Along a narrow lane near the manor house, they strutted down the high, manicured yew hedge that bordered the gravelly driveway on both sides. Some of them paused to meet up with their Death Eater associates, who of course were not masked, but still clad in Death Eater ceremonial robes. Yet it is important to note, that not all of them know the Death Eaters directly. Some are just a friend-of-a-friend.

One of the Avery men, arriving by summoning, actually approached a beautiful middle-aged witch in fur dress-robes and sparkling jewels dotting her hair.

Avery kissed her hand, lightly brushing it with his lips, and spoke politely, "Good evening, my beautiful lover…May I be the one to accompany you?"

She smiled and laughed delightedly at Avery, and the couple proceeded towards the magnificent manor house, it's diamond paned windows gleaming in the last rays of fiery sunlight, and the pointed turrets of the towers creating blacks shadows, that somehow reflected back on the house.

Down the perfectly straight driveway, couples went arm-in-arm, some of them bringing their children trailing behind them. They passed the expansive landscape, listening to the lilting music of a fountain playing in the distance.

Some of them, regarded in marvelous surprise and interest, the albino peacocks roaming the expansive lawn before the front of the huge manorhouse. Eventually, they all went up the steps to the front door and Pettigrew scrambled through the enormous crowd waiting, as he needed to open it to escort them inside.

It took several minutes, but finally everybody was mingling inside the palace, all of them slowly making their way through the large, decorated entrance hall with it's magnificent carpet covering most of the floor, and proceeding up the wide main staircase.

The hordes of people flooded into a cathedral-sized hall, that was to the left of the landing landing of the second floor. Lining the hall on both sides was stain-glass windows. The floor was checker black and white, with an optical illusion, making the ground appear curved. Above, the elongnated, vaulted ceiling, flashed prisms of irridescent multi-color lights, which is magic made to resemble spells. As they flashed, they lit up the stain-glass windows surrounded by ornate paneling, making it look like there was lightning flashing over the pictures. The effect made the pictures in the windows become positively ghastly and hideous. All in all, it was a sumptuous, gothic atmosphere.

They all looked up towards a balcony, where they could see Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy with their son, as well as Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus Snape at the edge. Below the balcony, at the end of the cathedral-sized hall, was the entrance into the ballroom-theater, of which there is no door. Rather, two gigantic sculptured statues of a naked man and woman stood, connected by a stone snake entwining them at their torsos, guarding the ballroom-theater.

And above the balcony, most ominously of all, was a recently conjured shield of black, with a green and silver s-curved snake to represent the infamous Founder of Hogwarts: Salazar Slytherin.

After several moments, all approximate four hundred guests had made it into the cathedral. The humming of hundreds of voices, seemed to hush as they all looked curiously up at the balcony above them, wondering what was to happen.

Voldemort made his entrance, appearing literally out of thin air as he had been invisible. He stood in the center of the balcony and gazed at the crowd, the vertically slit-pupiled scarlet eyes, burning like coals..

They stared back, a few of them jumping in fright. Most of them were in shock to see him present. About two dozen of the henchmen, or in other words, Snatchers stood as security against the crowd, either standing at strategic points like sentinels or patrolling it. The remaining Death Eaters not on the balcony, were trying to look macho at the front, facing the crowd.

Voldemort, put his wand to his throat, nonverbally casting the sonorous charm. This would, of course, magically magnify his words.

The dramatic build-up mounted as he continued to gaze at them powerfully, and fiercely. He raised both hands up to the crowd quite calmly, as if to quiet them, the emerald and silver forearm bracers glinting.

The Snatchers, in their yellow and black uniform robes and in high boots continued to march, the silver plated 'S' badges on their chests gleaming. They succeeded at parting the crowd into serried rows for organization.

Once it was as quiet as it ever could be, and the lurches of fear and awe-subsided, Voldemort lowered his hands and began his speech.

"Welcome, Witches and Wizards to tonight's celebration, "Festival of the Pure-Bloods". This is in homage to I, Lord Voldemort's recent victory....In that golden hour yesterday, in which Rufus Scrimgeour so sadly resigned…I was responsible for the fate of all wizards, and I became the supreme power over the Ministry of Magic….."

Voldemort did not yell, yet his voice, under a powerful sonorous charm boomed throughout the cathedral, drilling into the eardrums. Despite the volume, his voice was modest and constrained with just a hint of righteousness.

"Everyone must know that in all future time if he raises his hand to strike at the ministry, then he strikes at me, and certain death will be his lot.

"Tonight we pause to reflect on all that has come before… and to ponder and plan for our hopes and dreams of rightful pure-blood domination in the future. We shall cut away the canker that infects us all until only those of the true blood remain. I – Lord Voldemort promise you and your families shall have this. But to achieve this, we must prepare for the war that is at hand, for there must be war as there are still many that oppose us…"

And now his tone became stronger, more forceful, "We must be ruthless! We must regain our clear conscience as to ruthlessness…Just as my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin whose symbol resides above me....Slytherin once used different language on the subject : he thought that the destinies of peoples could be determined neither through majority decisions nor through treaties, but only through blood, which is just what I believe. That was why he left the founders of the school so many centuries ago...

"We must be cunning. As the sorting hat said, to 'use any means to achieve our ends'…Only then shall we purge our people of their softness and sentimental weaknesses…and, their delight in temporary pleasure….After this celebration, this party, if you will…We have no time for fine sentiments…I don't want the interrogations of Muggle-borns and their executions to be forgotten. For if they do not wish to be reformed and subjugated they shall be executed. Terror is the most effective instrument. I shall not permit myself to lose sight of it because a lot of stupid sympathizers for the Muggle-borns choose to be offended by it…

"May we be conscious of the fact that our task of building this new state represents the work of the coming centuries, and this places every single person under an obligation always to serve the common interest of mine and to subordinate his own interests. I demand of all wizards, all Death Eaters, men and women, and the henchmen and all of my armed forces put together, that they remain faithful and obedient to the new government and to the minister, Pius Thickness unto death.

"As of yesterday, the International Wizengamot has been dissolved. This has been done for the purpose that the British magical people are all that matter. We will isolate ourselves until we will have built ourselves up to be better than the world itself, because we are!..."

At this applause rang out, and cheers. The sheer magnitude and power of Voldemort's oration, was simply electrifying. It was utterly moving.

Voldemort did not lose his bearing, or his train of thought, but continued after the cheers quieted, "In addition, all the courts prior statutes have been removed replaced by new decrees with much harsher penalties. Yet we will NOT abandon the International Statute of Secrecy! Section 72 remains to keep us free from the prying eyes of muggles.

"Now, I must call for you to work hard with patience and diligence. It will take time to accomplish what we seek. As of now, some of us, my henchmen are scouring out every known location Harry Potter might be or they are tailing those other Undesirables…or in others words, members of the Order of the Phoenix. Last night, they successfully banned all mudbloods from employment in Diagon and Knockturn Alley, smashing up their businesses' and residences'. For Muggle-borns or to use our derisive phrase, 'mudbloods' are now forbidden under my law to practice any magical trades or shops, market stalls or any business, or any employment in the country at all…. We are going to destroy the mudbloods....They are not going to get away with stealing our magic through their despicable means of theft and force, for which they are practicing.

"It is clear to us that this particular view of muggle-borns rests in fact regarding the impulse which springs from our race and from our blood. The impulse to survive and mate successfully and remain pure. We said to ourselves that blood purity does not differ from magic and, further, that each race in accordance with its fundamental demands shows externally certain specific tendencies, and these tendencies can perhaps be most clearly traced in their relation to the conception of work. The Pure-Blood regards their manipulation of magic as the foundation for the maintenance of the community of people amongst it members. The Mudblood regards magical prowess as the means to the exploitation of other people. The muggle-born never functions as a productive creator without the great aim of becoming the master. He works unproductively using and enjoying other wizard's work. And thus, we understand the succinct sentence which Slytherin once uttered: 'The muggle-born is the ferment of decomposition in magical peoples,' that means that the muggle-born destroys and must destroy because he completely lacks the conception of an activity which builds up the life of the community. And therefore it is beside the point whether the individual muggle-born is 'decent' or not. In himself he carries those characteristics which Nature has given him, and he cannot ever rid himself of those characteristics. And to us he is harmful. Whether he harms us consciously or unconsciously, that is not our affair. We have consciously to concern ourselves for the welfare of our own people," there could be no mistake, as this point that Voldemort's voice had shook with unmistakable anger and contempt. But after this it subsided…

"So I ask, that you take into consideration the lowly henchmen's example and work hard…." And Voldemort twirled his wand, aiming it the heavens, "For Lord Voldemort is watching…Do not make him ashamed!…"

At this tumultuous applause broke out again, and the crowd mimicked Voldemort, raising their own wands, like fists hitting the air, so pumped with energy were they.

Voldemort continued to whirl his wand, and and he gestured a histrionic body language, to illustrate his monologue, "Many very brave men and women have resolved to link their lives to mine to the very end. I have requested them, and finally ordered them, to take part in the continuing struggle against potential resisters. I ask the Death Eaters by all possible means, emphasizing especially that I too, as founder and creator of this movement, have preferred them to die as opposed to cowardly flight.

"Now we must discuss the unfortunate imbeciles, those who support Undesirable Number One: Harry Potter. When it was Potter who had a hand in the death of their old, degenerate hero Dumbledore. Undesirable Number One is wanted for questioning by the ministry and I ask if any of you know where Potter is now, to step forward during this 'Festival of the Pure-Bloods.' For they are deluded into thinking he is for righteousness and good. When there is no such thing as the good and evil dichotomy. There is only power, and my magical power being in the greatest abundance of all," said Voldemort, demonizing the other side.

"The new ministry shall proclaim the truth: MAGIC IS MIGHT!….It is the magic of the wand in hand, of wizard war that shall bring us new, ever greater victories…"

And once against Voldemort, screamed, insanely the very motto of his regime, that was placed at the statue in the atrium in the ministry, "MAGIC IS MIGHT…"!

The Death Eater's, at the front of the crowd, started, raising their left forearms, exposing their Dark Marks to the standard salute. They solemnly chanted "Hail the Dark Lord!"

And suddenly everyone was taking up the chant. It was an irresistible force, as nearly four hundred people chanted for the second time, roaring with one voice, "HAIL THE DARK LORD!"

Even the minority that were frightened and did not agree, raised their left forearm in salute. Yet Narcissa on the balcony, regarded this all in wonder, as she went along. She did not believe Voldemort truly had the pure-bloods interests at heart. She had already seen with her son Draco, how Voldemort had damaged and hurt him so much. She wondered what would become of them all, this war waged was not really for the purity of blood.

"We stand on the precipice of two possiblities: either we remain pure-blood or we dwindle under the meddlings of the filth: all those less than pure that wish to taint our people, for they are only jealous. To put it categorically, it is the squibs, and the half-breeds, the muggle-borns and finally, the muggles whom we shall either kill or enslave."

Voldemort continued his gesticulation, "Even if we, Purebloods are small, we are a force. A well-organized group can conquer a strong enemy. If you stick close together, we will be victorious over any resistance, to all that oppose me. And through any distress there is no doubt that the pure-bloods have been aroused. Externally perhaps apathetic, but within there is ferment. And many may say, 'It is an accursed crime to stir up passions in the people.' And then I say to myself: Passion is already stirred through the rising tide of distress, and one day this passion will break out in one way or another. This is the mightiest thing which our movement must create: for these widespread, seeking and straying masses a new Faith which will not fail them in this hour of confusion, to which they can pledge themselves to me, on which they can build so that they may at least find once again a place which may bring calm….

"....It is to be announced on Monday for the children of witches and wizards to have compulsory education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That is only if they have their Blood Status confirmed through geneology. If they do not possess at least one, proven member of magical ancestry in relation to them, they may not attend…

"Now, I want to ask something of those among you who are young. And for that there is a very special reason. The old regime, the former ministry trained our youth in theory, and without a respect for the knowledge of the Dark Arts. We prefer to train them to use their magical strength. For I tell you: the young witch or wizard who does not find his way to the place where in the last resort the destiny of his people is most truly represented, only studies magical theory and in a time like this buries himself behind his books, he is no Pure-Blood youth! I call upon you! Join our henchmen or perhaps, if exceptionally talented even my Death Eaters! And however many insults and slanders you may hear if you do join, you all know that the Snatchers have been formed for our protection, for your protection, and at the same time not merely for the protection of my reign, but for the protection of a pure-blood country that is to be. If you are reviled and insulted, good luck to you, my brave boys and girls! You have the good fortune already at eighteen or nineteen years of age to be hated. What others can win only after a lifetime of toil, this highest gift of distinguishing between the honest man and the brigand, falls as a piece of luck into your lap while you are but youths. You can be assured that the more the resisters revile you, the more we respect you. We know, we see clearly that our movement would be stamped out if you did not protect it! You are the defense of a movement that is called one day to remodel Great Britain in revolutionary fashion from its very foundations in order that there may come to birth what perhaps so many expected, a Pure-Blood state of the English witches and wizards and, so far as in us lies, a Pure-Blood Ministry of Magic…I must keep our youth closely regarded, and under my eye so that they may grow up to be outstanding citizens of my new regime.

"In order to give the wizard race organizations composed of honorable witches and wizards, who will fulfill their duty of continuing the war by all available means, I, Lord Voldemort, nominate the following as the Board of School Governours for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:

"Augustus Rookwood, Antonin Dolohov, Thorfinn Rowle, Nott, Evan Rosier, Rabastan Lestrange and Rodolphus Lestrange.

"And as Headmaster of Hogwarts, it is with pleasure that I appoint the post to Severus Snape, with his co-deputy's Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

From behind Voldemort's immediate right, Snape bowed gracefully. Lucius was abruptly disturbed. His name had not been called for School Governor, and his mouth, sagging and the heat rising in anger, at a further detriment to his wounded pride.

"All of these great witches and wizards have joined me by their own free will and do not wish to leave my service under any circumstance, but on the contrary are willing to die if it answers the call of my name. Yet I must ask them to obey my request, and in this instance place the interests of the Purebloods above their own.

"Above all, I charge the leadership of Great Britain and my followers with the strict observance of the ideals of racial purity and with merciless resistance against the universal poisoners of all magic kind…the muggle-born enemy....Some have said we could never have our Pure-Blood reign...And here we are tonight; with a Pure-Blood run press, an integrated Pure-blood people, and a Pure-Blood way of life...." Suddenly Voldemort violently barked, "You are not like us! You can never be like us! If you think you can, you had better run!...." It was as if Voldemort was presumbably talking to any muggle-borns listening.

"....Now I have changed the Department of Magical Games and Sports in the Ministry, which is now dubbed: 'Department of Muggle Games and Sports'…. All of you are invited to join us outside in a moment where we shall engage in the wonderful art of muggle sporting. And you're probably wondering about this evening's entertainment.... There's enough wine in the Malfoy's manor to float Greyback's boats!...."

Great gales of laughter broke out and Bellatrix cackled madly with the throng. The crowd suddenly seemed in a jolly, but sickening mood. Even Lucius cracked a smile.

"It's all yours when they're dead. Oh yes, and the Veela women will be suitable for your baser pleasures too.

"Today the carrion birds will feast on the flesh of our enemies! They shall not get good, Pureblood flesh!"

"I end with this statement, which will be of historical significance:

"Salazar Slytherin was the greatest early crusader in the battle against the Muggle-born enemy... The work that Slytherin started but could not finish, I – Lord Voldemort-- will conclude."

**Note: As you can probably see now…this is where the parallels to Nazi Germany are most evident…**


	26. Two Suns in the Sunset

Chapter Nine: Two Suns in the Sunset 

Everyone hurried down the main staircase, and then down the narrow corridor, passing the candle-filled Drawing Room on the right, and at the end of the corridor, they took an exit that led to outside.

The large fountain was playing right outside, and it took a minute to cross through the garden to the back of the house.

There was a long line of neatly trimmed bushes, only about three feet tall. Fairy lights shone in the short bushes, like muggle Christmas lights, twinkling in the dustiness of sunset. Yet the weather was far from Christmas-like, as it was hot and humid.

Finally, everybody was congregated for the next part of the show in another area of a garden, gathering in front of the fairy-lit bushes, facing the direction that went towards a lake with a secluded fen. Beyond the fen was the thick forest, stretching out along the horizon the sun visible between the trees. The crowd watched in this direction, and they saw dozens and dozens of canoes appear out of the horizon passing through the woods, sailing through the lake, veering rapidly towards the fen.

At the head of the line of canoes, was Fenrir Greyback, the ring leader of his band of Snatchers, standing at the helm of his canoe. The canoes glided along magically, without any oars being necessary, and so much more difficult to tip over, and it is why the werewolf could stand.

In the boats, people huddled: Muggles of all ages, confused, from all sorts of spells cast to dim their wits. From Confundus charms and Imperius curses, and Silencing charms being the most prominent. The Snatchers had assembled the muggles during Voldemort's rallying of the guests. And so, the henchmen had brought to the property through the lake the hundreds of muggles they had captured and imprisoned over the past few weeks. Voldemort had initially, planned this slaughter with Greyback.

A lone hooded figure appeared, hovering in the glimmering orange sky, amidst thin, cirrus clouds of summer swirling. The crowd's vantage point being such a distance, they were not sure whether it was a Dementor or not. Yet it was Voldemort, and from a distance, he actually resembled a Dementor.

A moment later and a storm engulfed the lone figure. It was like a locust of hundreds of cloaked and hooded figures gliding. The Dementors responded to the lone figure, loyally, considering Voldemort to be their master. Voldemort somehow, in the throng of Dementors commanded them only to suck the souls of those unable to perform magic. Yet the Dementors had no effect on the Dark Lord's emotions at all. His soul was so unbalanced and ripped, that these dark creatures, naturally could not effect his mood.

As the storm of Dementors descended, the crowd watching in the garden out back of the house, reacted. A raven patronus, and a few cat patronuses cajoled forward, with a tiger and a hare patronus amongst others, appeared. Yet not a single one of these patronuses was from a Death Eater. Except Severus Snape, alone by himself, nobody noticing him. And nobody heard in the screams and chattering, Snape roar, "Expecto Patronum!" Out of his wand, shot forth a silvery doe. Snape gallantly directed the doe, with his wand to protect the others, and she galloped away from him.

The guests continued to watch, whilst all twenty-five of the Death Eaters ran, and filed through the small, wrought-iron gate between the glittering fairy-lit bushes. Upon entering, the Death Eaters splashed gaily through the shallow marsh, coming closer and closer to the Dementors. Only Lucius was most discontent with getting his feet wet, and was not delighted like the others.

Snape, was the last Death Eater to go through the gate as he was reluctant to take part in the muggle sporting, yet he knew he must or else he might blow his cover tonight, as to the real side he is on. Still, an ugly sneer suffused his pallid face, for he wanted to watch the executions. Snape would enjoy seeing the Dementor's kiss.

Instead of wading through the marsh like the rest of the Death Eaters, and several dozens of the more curious and eager guests, he rose up into the sky. Snape had learned a few tricks from his master, including how to fly without broom or other means of support.

His billowing robes whirled wildly, as it was windy at this high altitude, and he lifted a hood from under his robes. He flew like a great bat through the sultry atmosphere, the wind rushing, drowning out the loud, excited drone of hundreds and hundreds of people below. 

As he came closer, he headed to the eye of the storm, in which Voldemort was commanding at the center. It was calm there, all was quiet. Snape was suddenly faint, and the color was quickly draining from him. Although he wanted to enjoy the show, he could not cast a Patronus to repel the Dementors he was passing. Doing so could indicate his true loyalties. Memories of his grim past flooded his consciousness, as he stole past the hideous creatures that were making him almost ill. He thought desperately, _"Just a little further…"_

The Dementors were having a much worse effect on him than the other Death Eaters. Many had of course endured Dementors in Azkaban for years. Yet Snape had not, and his past was far worse than most and he experienced the pain because his conscience was true.

But finally he made it to the center, where Voldemort was. Assisting his master, he took his wand out. He turned to face Voldemort, whose face was a flaming blur in the last rays of daylight. Only Snape and Voldemort had a knowledge and practical application of the Dark Arts so extensive, that they could actually control the Dementors.

Down below, Bellatrix Lestrange joined the other witches and wizards who were swishing their wands like swords, setting celebratory explosions of red sparks into the air, shooting like firecrackers.

The Dementors idly descended, to feast on the hundreds and hundreds of muggles, lined up in rows in the fen. Bellatrix, ran through the ankle deep water, through yellow grasses, laughing like a giddy schoolgirl. It was a fantastic opportunity for torture and she took up the cause: "Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!…" And she continued…Slashing her wand, in which encircled her the droves of clueless muggles. She watched them fall like ducks, screaming. They seemed to be drowning in the torture curse, as they writhed in the shallow water, coughing up the brackish water. Bellatrix was having a field day, it was so much fun.

The muggles felt a palpable, ominous fluctutation. The humid, summery warmth dissipated. There were so many Dementors, that the sky was no longer visible, the inky redness of it blotted out.

Shockwaves of rattling breaths erupted, and then they exhaled together, the foul breath like the stench of death rent the air. The Dementors navigated, remarkably sightless, yet like magnets they knew just where their prey was.

The crowd watched from a distance, unscathed, and the sunlight still reaching them, though it was weaker, overcast and shadowy from the Dementors' presence. The party was lucky they could not feel the Dementors who were a few hundred yards off, plus they had seven Patronuses standing proud on top of the fairy-lit bushes.

Some of the Death Eaters screamed shrilly along with the terrified muggles, as the Dementor's blanketed them. And they watched the kisses occur practically on top of them. They could feel their own despair, the peace, hope and happiness drained from them, their energy gone, yet the Death Eaters screamed violently like they had done in the cells whilst staying in Azkaban. Yet they still managed to torture muggles before they would be Kissed.

The Dementor's were withdrawing the hoods, to the hideous nothingess of their visage, revealing two, empty sockets and a hole of a mouth. The Dementors swarmed, darting everywhere looking for a victim. Hands glistening, grasish, slimy and scabbed, several clamped onto a victim's throat. Sucking noises broke the air, as they began to kiss the muggles. It was unbearable enough to witness one Dementor's Kiss, and now dozens were going on at once.

People in the crowd watched, their hands pressed tightly to their own mouths instinctively. Some of them moaned, wails of horror at the ghastly sight. A minority of them began to retreat, knowing it was safe to leave the party now. These were the people, who showed up, and did not know Voldemort was going to be there, and did not agree with him at all.

They continued to feast on the muggles of all ages, some of them infants whose soul departed in their mother's arms.

It took only about five minutes and then nearly seven hundred muggles were nothing but empty shells. Their souls, completely irretrivably gone…But none of them were dead…yet.

The din of screams and shouts of horror subsided as it ended, and there was a false lull. Everybody still alert, waited breathless. A mist, that became as a thick as a fog enveloped the surroundings. It was the dementor's breeding after their feast, yet the odd thing was nobody could actually see how they were procreating. Mist was actually, in it's bileness coming out from underneath their robes. It was like they were creating death, instead of life.

Another couple of minutes passed, and the Dementors retreated at Voldemort's orders from at the center, and the last of the blood-red sunset was visible again. They broke off to circle the outskirts of Malfoy manor, making it an arduous, unpleasant task for anyone to enter and for anyone to leave. But if they could do a Patronus and command it correctly, they might make it…

So that was pretty much a brief Holocaust, of which wizards are responsible. This chapter is again, named after a Pink Floyd song about a nuclear holocaust. And Snape does say in Half-Blood Prince book that there is indeed an alternative way to control Dementors besides Patronuses. I wonder what this method actually is though. This horrific scene is not over yet!


	27. Two Suns in the Sunset 2

Continuation of...

Chapter Nine: Two Suns in the Sunset

An overweight, squat witch was watching this so-called "interesting man" controlling the Dementors. She was feeling intense admiration for his power. She had just been given a real treat getting to watch hundreds of Dementors give out the Kiss and was feeling rather appreciative towards him. Her shoulders scrunched up in delight, her pouchy cheeks even fuller than usual, as if she was gorging on sweets.

Dolores Umbridge had stood watching the Kisses at the front of the crowd, her playful cat Patronus, right in front of her, for her own protection. She was still wearing the heavy golden locket of Slytherin, which of course is the actual Horcrux she had nicked from Mundungus Fletcher. A house-elf named Pilosto, had actually found Umbridge unconscious in a vacant room on the fourth floor, and he had stayed with her until she had woken up. Conveniently, she did not awaken until after Voldemort's speech. Pilosto was the one who had escorted the possessed Umbridge to this location.

She was no longer possessed as of now, but the locket was having a very unpleasant effect on her, that she was finally, after days becoming aware of its danger. Inwardly, she was debating whether she should stop wearing the locket or not. Yet Umbridge was afraid to take it off, as she liked to wear it as a marker of proof, however false that she was pure-blood.

"Who is that interesting, most cultured man of class? Who IS he?!," Umbridge muttered to herself now, still standing in the crowd, in which there was only about a hundred guests brave enough to stay. Everyone else, about ten had left the property altogether, or taken up whatever entertainment was being offered inside the mansion.

Umbridge, continued to watch the strange man, controlling the Dementors, as he directed them to circle the outskirts of the property.

Voldemort was like Satan, with his cape spread like huge wings and his profile ephemeral in the twilight. He came closer to the garden, passing the lake, and descended in front of everyone, until he landed, lightly.

Now that he was so much closer, Umbridge could see the man's pearly-white glowing complexion in the twilight. There could be no mistaking the mask-like, skull-like face of Lord Voldemort.

And at recognition, of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the crazed bureaucrat of the ministry, lost her head completely. She screamed, a yelp of surprise, but there was so much mayhem going on, nobody really cared to notice her. Except Draco, who was coming out of the fen with the Death Eaters, looking glum. But at the sight of his former so-called Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, he brightened up, pointing a finger and laughing at the comical sight. Meanwhile, all the Death Eaters were busy drying and scourgifying their robes, as the trip in the fen had got their fancy, ceremonial robes wet.

She continued to yelp, as she turned tail and ran, with continuous cries of, "Oh…Oh…Oh!,"

Down below, at people' feet little magical creatures from the lake called Imps were running loose. They scuttled on the damp earth, kicking at people's ankles. The Imps spotted, the short, fat legs of Dolores Umbridge, trying her best to make a run for it. They caught up with her.

Umbridge tripped over the tiny creatures, so blind with fright, she did not think of what they could be. She continued to fall and get back up again, all the while groaning.

Frantic with fright she tore through the house, fleeing like a maniac from Voldemort's presence. She wanted nothing to do with him.


	28. Two Suns in the Sunset 3

Please, Please review again.

Continuation of….

Chapter Nine: Two Suns in the Sunset

Fifty Snatchers remained penned inside the fen, amongst nearly seven hundred perfectly dazed muggles. They were levitating the naked bodies of the muggles out, dropping them with deliberate force into the garden, just beyond the fairy bushes.

"This is definitely the greatest muggle sporting we've ever had!" said Jugson with enthusiasm.

Some of the Death Eaters who heard nodded with approval. Squinting in the foggy mist, they watched the Snatchers across the way. Above the whole scene the stars came out, visible, and yet there was no moon rising.

A few minutes later, after levitating the bodies out, the Snatchers were not departing through the gate. Like hurdles, they jumped over the three feet tall bushes coming out of the fen. Some of the Death Eaters, frowned at the lower henchmen disdainfully, and made a space between them, as if to say 'you are not as good as we'.

The Snatchers immediately gravitated over to the muggles, knocking the soulless, quiet and shocked, confused and imperiused muggles back on the ground. They gripped knives in their hands, and other lethal looking chiseling instruments, and in their other hands held their wands.

Greyback lunged for a female muggle, who was a teenager. Despite still being alive and there being no full moon, he grabbed at her and started biting. Gaining the consummate sexual pleasure, he bit at the live girl's breasts. Gnawing, he hacked off a voluptuous boob.

He chewed loudly, and swallowed some of the flesh, blood drizzling down his whiskers. Then he opened his mouth, sighing heavily, "Mhmm…The Dark Lord told me I get to keep some of the booty…and this youngling is mine…CRUNCH!"

And he continued, until he had hacked off with his sharp, cannibal teeth the entire boob. He held it in his hand, squeezing the jiggling boob, moaning with pleasure and licking his lips, then smacking them. Blood spouted out of it, and seeped into Greyback's already filthy long nails. By this point, the female muggle was dead, shock glazing her face, from the last excruciating pain she must of felt. Greyback regarded her misery with merriment, laughing a hollow echo.

He lunged for another victim, gorging on its testicles briefly, and then started to separate the pile, into a smaller one of the victims he wanted to eat later. After biting and finally killing six or seven of them, Greyback retired from his meal, knowing he had work assigned to him.

The Snatchers had taken out carving knives and began to scrape and shred at the faces of the muggles contorting them into ugly, twisted, stupid expressions. Just as Voldemort would like it to be the victims died a slow, torturous death carving their flesh. 

After a time, the carvings of human flesh resembled one colossal ice sculpture.

Voldemort came sweeping over to his Snatchers, the tapestry; tinny crescent moon patterned cape flowing. Most of them regarded him in nervous wonderment. Only Greyback was on speaking terms with the Dark Lord, yet even so, he never said too much to him.

"This is to be displayed below the statue in the atrium, under the plaque 'Magic is Might'," Voldemort suddenly spoke, over Greyback's hunched shoulders.

The serial-killer werewolf, smiled at Voldemort and said sycophantically, "You really are quite the artist for coming up with this, master!"

"I consider this as the ideal furnishings…to make me feel at home," Voldemort said half-jokingly. And Voldemort watched with interest as Greyback ate the meat, unabashedly taking another bite out of a ripped open body, seizing a heart out of its chest, chewing on it like a cud. Voldemort himself wondered if he would enjoy this, but he would not do it in front of his Death Eaters as it might creep them out too much and they were supposed to seem above the activities of the henchmen, and especially a werewolf. 

The Death Eaters watching responded to the Dark Lord's approval, breaking the silence, the din breaking out again with a chorus of their rejoicing in the gore. As they did so, the fairy lights, which had been decorations arranged by the House Elves, disappeared from the nearby bushes. The white and rainbow colored lights the fairies exuded left because they did not feel wanted or appreciated anymore at this despicable bash.

"I can hear his heart speak…" Greyback murmured to himself, whilst briefly putting the heart to his ear, like somebody would to a seashell. 

The muggles, still alive, hearts beating but soulless, were slowly dieing. Greyback continued his help with the giant mound of flesh, spreading all the limbs apart, and placing them on top of the others in obscene postures. Then using Dark magic with his wand, the mound transformed further into a form of magical porn. With wands, the Snatchers contorted the faces and twisted the bodies up, while with the knives they melded the flesh together, then sealed it with their wands, so that the bodies stuck, the blood holding it together like glue.

By this point, Greyback's fancy, ceremonial Death Eaters robes were drenched with muggle blood, and also his own sweat as it was a difficult task to create this macabre ornamentation for the Ministry of Magic. The other Snatchers robes' of black and yellow were ripped and worn by now, blood sopping wet. They wiped glistening sweat off their faces with their elbows'.

The Death Eater, Macnair his black moustache curling with amusement, as if he was enjoying himself at a carnival, took his wand out, listening to the last, heaving breaths of hundreds and hundreds of muggles. The Snatchers climbed onto the very top of the pile, continuing the slow executions of them.

"Morsmordre!" Macnair proudly yelled. Over the Wiltshire countryside like a hot-air balloon signaling the location of the celebration, a spotlight was conjured: the Dark Mark. The blank starriness in the sky was replaced by a flaming image of contrary light. A glittering snake spiraled out of a gleaming skull, with a beast-like roaring. It was as if the Dark Mark was replacing the daytime sun, casting an eclipse of daylight and reason into the darkness. And what better time during the celebration of the Dark Lord's coup, then now after murdering so many in his name to display his notorious symbol?

"Look mummy…" a small child of five said. And pointing his index finger with faint clarity the child continued, "There's the Dark Mark up in the sky…" Actually this was quite the mark of the seriousness of the times that a five year old boy knew of the symbol that represents Voldemort's terror.

The mother and child were standing in the back of the crowd, and she looked up, following her son's respectful gaze, as the boy regarded it like it was his nation's flag. She covered her son's eyes, as if to shield him from the awful sight and the loss of his innocence at all the violence going on around them. Horrified, yet speechless she picked her son up, and proceeded to leave the Malfoy's.

And at the front of the crowd, was Bellatrix wrapping that ostentatious velvet cloak, around her shoulders, as the presence of the foggy mist gave her a psychosomatic belief she was freezing.

Yet this belief that she was cold did not make her emphasize with other's feelings, such as the possibility that others could be cold. Rather she broke over to Narcissa, who was trying her best not to watch the grisly episode of the 'Festival of the Pure-Bloods'. Narcissa stayed only because of Lucius and Draco being expected to.

"'Cissy take off those shabby robes …We're going to go inside soon anyway…"

Narcissa pursed her lips with a distasteful, sour look, holding her head a little higher. She was not going to reveal the erotic dressrobes, in which she falsely believed from Bellatrix that the Dark Lord was ordering her to wear. Not until she had to, would she reveal them to the party.

But it was too late. She felt Bellatrix's hands on her shoulders, then her deft fingertips, rapidly unbuttoning her front, and the plain robes slipped off. 

Bellatrix then gave a playful, yet stinging swat, on her tiny, tight ass. "Be a good girl…and do as our Lord says…" her older sister scolded.

Some of the men, noticed her in the new robes, and let out appreciative whistles and catcalls at the outfit. Narcissa's pale face reddened with deep shame.  
She was dressed like an imaginative fantasy sex slave. It was as if Narcissa was a play-witch, wearing a silk see-through white negligee, with long sleeves. On her feet, was a padding of feathers, pointed up, tied at the ankle. And then, in place of a blouse, she had special bracelets cuffed tightly around her boobs, made of crystal. The boob bracelets made her erect nipples salient. Crystals rings were on her slender fingers, except the thumbs. And her silvery blonde hair was down, and crystal bells of earrings that made a tinkle with every step, thus attracting Narcissa more attention. She was basically naked, as you could see right through to her pubic hair, and the tight buttocks. To make it worse, she was forced to wear sparkly silver eyeshadow, mascara, and blush that made her feel like a clown. 

Bellatrix was suddenly filled with the desire to get it on with her own sister, if only to dominate her and punish her for taking Voldemort away from her. But she withheld that urge, knowing she would be punished if she did. As Voldemort had said nobody was to take Narcissa until after he would bed her tonight, or rather by then, tomorrow. Instead, Bellatrix used the vanishing spell, disposing of the plain black robes Narcissa had been wearing. 

Greyback looked down from his place at the top of the giant mountain of bodies. He tumbled like it was a haystack to the bottom, and with loping grace traveled over to the commotion.

Gnashing his teeth he reached out, with his hand, tempted to pinch Narcissa's nipples. Before he could, Narcissa, folding her arms, covering her breasts up, and backed away. "Don't touch me…Half-breed beast!"

Greyback was not in the least bit discouraged. He picked up her ringed hand, actually kissing it and said, "My lady…let me have a hand that tastes…Tastes of purity of blood…"

Narcissa snatched her hand away, and retreated into what she hoped was the protection of the other men, the real Death Eaters in their ceremonial robes. She examined the hand he had touched and saw it had been unstained, as the blood on Greyback's hands was clay-like dried blood.

"You're the Dark Lord's hooker…Am I right, lady?"

"No!" Narcissa yelled. "Yes, I suppose so…" she relented in a tiny squeak.

Draco several feet away, saw his mother was upset, his ears pricked up listening intently.

"My own eyes must have heard a thing or two rightly…" Greyback surmised brightly. It was made manifest that Greyback had a tendency to make melodramatic rhetorical mistakes, as his eyes could not have heard about it, rather his ears. 

"You are nothing! Nothing but a rough, uncivilized werewolf," Narcissa said with elitist contempt.

"Ha! You lot…may be close to him, yet you would never carve the bodies like I have done."

Bellatrix was irritated, and she said incredulously, "Why should we? We will not! Because I- We have no desire to dirty ourselves in stinking muggle blood…Especially not in the Festival of the Pure-Bloods!"

And with that Bellatrix led her sister out of the way of the werewolf and into the house. Greyback turned back to his artwork, smiling with satisfaction. Voldemort was still present, eyeing the Snatchers, supervising their work, which was just about finished.

Note:  
This scene is not finished. Sorry. There are like a dozen scenes left for this whole party part anyway. In Deathly Hallows it says on page 242 in 'Magic is Might' chapter, "Harry looked more closely and realized that what he had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards." So that is exactly what happened here, and this my explanation as to where the corpses in the atrium came from.


	29. Two Suns in the Sunset 4

Continuation and final installment of….

Chapter Nine: Two Suns in the Sunset

All the Death Eaters and the one hundred bravest souls of the crowd returned back through to the entrance where they had come out before from the side of the mansion, crossing the beautiful greenery of the gardens.

The flesh had the odor of lamb, slaughtered lamb, which is quite literally what the innocent muggles had become. The remaining blood and organs were not cleaned up, but instead being demolished by the Red Caps. A loud, insipid suckling noise could be heard from the magical creatures, consuming the raw meat on the ground. The Red Caps had infested the puddles of blood, as they are attracted to any place that human flesh has been spilled, and will bludgeon anyone incapable of repelling them.

The one final guest got a glimpse of Voldemort, and Voldemort actually peered in the guest's direction briefly, but he was not focusing on the lone wizard. The man shielded his eyes from Voldemort's gaze as if shielding them from the sun's rays, as Voldemort's red eyes gleamed strangely. The man was frightened as if Voldemort had given him the evil eye and he ran to flee the scene.

As Voldemort continued to view the Snatchers, finishing the work, his flattened serpentine-like face, gave an intake of breath, as the stench of death was endearingly nostalgic to him. For he had killed so many thousands of the living many times before.

The fifty Snatchers were reposed on the mass of muggles getting their kicks out of fucking the corpses. Voldemort peered at them secretly longing to engage in this act. He had done it so many times before, most privately in his cave. Yet to what he believed, not a single living soul knew he had this cave.

Instead, Voldemort, nobody watching him, actually knelt down and scooped up a scruple left of the flesh. A Red Cap was clinging like a bug to it, and Voldemort without a shred of trepidation picked the dwarf-like creature off, pinching it and yanking it out of his way with lightning reflexes before it could attack him. It was just a mess of some tissues and very easy to swallow for the inexperienced, novice cannibal. He tasted it thoughtfully, savoring on it with his forked tongue. He swallowed and then pressed his lipless mouth together, smiling from ear to ear, thinking he would have to try eating his victims, perhaps even share a bite or to with Nagini sometime. But he would not confide in his Death Eaters, as he was cognizant that that this cannibalism would horrify them, yet he did not care really care that he knew it would scare them.

Greyback, his robes still drenched in blood was lolling on the garden ground, moaning. He had his cock inserted up a dead body, that of a small boy's anus.

Of course, the other Snatchers were all above still sexually maiming the tortured muggles.

Greyback offered as an excuse to them, yelling up at them above "Ah…Just a stomach ache…Ate too much younglings…But it was a good one!"

And he moaned again, digging his stubble of a dick, further into the corpse of a boy of about eight. Done ramming into that one, he shoved that corpse away and selected a few of the others that he had set aside as his special booty, meant for him to devour.

Meanwhile, the Snatchers were still lounging on top of the mountain of corpses. Something had risen dormant inside them like an evil snake. None of the Snatchers were natural Necrophiliacs, yet being around all these bodies made the evil desire rise inside them. Some of the Snatchers had placed their own penises in muggles mouths, only wishing the muggles could still suck. Others were lying in all forms of sexual positions on top of the contorted body parts. Part of them figured they might as well have this fun, as they knew they were not invited as guests to the parties, but were more like servants.

Voldemort suddenly spoke with ringing coldness, "Fenrir…get the Snatchers inside for me…Do it quickly and I shall allow you to attend the celebration alongside as an equal to my elite. You may enjoy yourself as much as you like."

Greyback, pushed himself upward and said nervously, 'Th-thank-you Master. I shall do as you say…"

"Good…"Voldemort muttered and he swept away into the overcast, mistiness of the night.


	30. Festival of the PureBloods

Finally I am up to this chapter…this will be a very, very long one most likely. Maybe as much as 20,000 words. Anyway…so much is going on in this fic…that I think it is bordering on insanity…and I am only about half-way done!

Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods

Minutes later, Lord Voldemort was inside the manor again gliding along the narrow corridor with a sense of clear-cut purpose about him, as there were several strategic agendas to discuss. Wormtail was waiting on the left in front of the Drawing Room. The distant sound of violent, ancient music mixed with varying voices of hundreds came from somewhere far beyond the corridor. Yet he paid no mind to it.

"Ah, Wormtail…Just who I need…Fetch me Snape and the Carrows, and bring us drinks while your at it" he glibly vocaled.

Wormtail bubbled complacently, "Yes, My Lord," and he bowed slightly. He was not clad in wizard's robes, but a wizard suit of muddled brown and a stringy, lopsided tie, and behind trailed a dusty traveling cloak. Pettigrew did not possess any dressrobes for the occasion, but he did have this old suit at least.

Stretching a large hand outward, Voldemort boldly pushed out the Drawing Room door. For one split second, shock flitted across his face at a most alarming sight. It certainly was not the same Drawing Room he had eaten in only a few hours ago at dinner.

Then, the red eyes fixed onto Bellatrix directly opposite him at the end of the room in the center. There flashed a menacing look on his countenance.

He did not move, as he observed her, and then he continued to take in the surroundings. The table and cabinets had been pushed into the back corner and the crystal chandelier and fireplace was no longer in use. Replacing them for light were hundreds of candles, floating above lining the sides of the walls. And in front, obstructing the view of the fireplace, was an enormous arrow shaped structure of pure, molten gold, and the entire room was smelling strongly of Dragon Blood incense.

"What is this?" Voldemort jeered aggressively. 

"Isn't it, fabulous?…It is for communion with you, My Lord. This is my shrine to you, my precious relic to you. You see?... The shape of the ancient rune called, 'Tiwaz', meaning God." Bellatrix's voice was still confident, despite the displeasure Voldemort was evincing.

The Altar was indeed in the shape of an arrow rune, which means literally, 'a God'. It had two short sets of steps at the edges, gilded serpents guarding it on the sides. Bellatrix had constructed it out of 5,000 galleons of her vault, transfiguring the gold into the shrine for her cult leader. She did not count gold for much significance anymore, knowing she barely needed it, as Bellatrix thought she was getting closer to the genuine intimacy she had also craved with him. It was all for the plan to worship Lord Voldemort as her God, her Satanic God.

Now, Bellatrix was kneeling at the center of the golden Altar, at the summit of the steps, her robes pushed up past her hips. Leaning back on her elbows, her legs spread wide, her vagina was promiscuously exposed, currently leaking with heavy masturbation. She had been doing solo masturbation before as foreplay, and was now ready to remove her attire and reveal herself naked on the Altar. In her hand, she wielded the short silver knife.

"Take me on your Altar top, my Lord! Take me senseless…I prove my worthiness through an offering of my pure blood…"

There was a flash, and Bellatrix's right fore-arm spurted a red gash, and whipping her hand down, it splashed beneath the base of the Altar, landing into a cauldron of Gabruithian fire, which was there representing his eternal reign, as it never burns out. It seemed she experienced the very opposite of pain from the deep abrasion, as she trilled in ecstasy, "FUCK ME MASTER!"

Voldemort continued to watch Bellatrix, gradually coming closer. Learning all he needed to know through Legilimency, he was relieved to learn she had not told any of the others of this shrine. Voldemort regarded Bellatrix as if he was seeing through her for the first time, and he did not like it.

Before she knew it, he was towering over her on the steps of the Altar. His hands reaching outwards. She panted in anticipation, still in her absurd posture, and with one hand, she took her robes off. Now Bellatrix was wearing a tight black corset like leather shirt. He loomed over her, but instantly the cold, white hands were closing around her throat.

He lifted her from the Altar by the neck, choking her. Once she got away from, what he regarded as the ridiculous thing, he relinquished his grip over her vitals.

And Voldemort turned away from Bellatrix with disgust and revulsion etched on his face, which was a very rare thing to see from him.

He flourished his wand, and the hundreds of candles the house-elves had arranged before, collided with each other forming a ring of fire above the room resembling a halo. Voldemort was aroused by the fire, his nostrils flaring, the mouth twisting with pleasure. He manipulated the fire with his hands acting out the magic and it swirled the ceiling, and then morphed into a giant serpent. His hands from the distance, spanned towards the direction of Bellatrix, who cowered at the sight, and ran backwards to the wall.

"MY LORD!" She cried in terror, truly believing he was trying to kill her.

Voldemort screamed with a mixture of rage and arousal, and then the giant fiery serpent vanished into a pile of water, splashing onto the floor.

Next, Voldemort turned back to the shrine and concentrating he spent the next minute making it vanish. It takes a lot of concentration just to make a potion disappear, let alone something as big as this fifteen-foot long Altar. The remnants of the Dragon's Blood incense billowed up like the smoky remains of an actual fire. And the Altar finally was gone. The cauldron, although that was left with the fire in it, was kicked by Voldemort's boot, actually skidded the floor to rest by the fireplace.

He turned around, to see Snape in the threshold of the drawing room, yet the Carrows had not arrived yet. He did not say anything to Snape, but instead addressed Bellatrix, "Now…present yourself before me like a proper Death Eater, Bella, and NOT like I am residing here at headquarters under a whore-house…"

Bellatrix, without thinking dropped to her knees, as is her habitual custom spoke matter- of-factly, "I beg my atonement, My Lord…."

"You will be getting just what you deserve tonight Bella!"

He went behind Bellatrix and with deliberate force he pushed her shoulders down further, until her chin was only an inch from the floor. She was still half-naked, only in that tight, black corset shirt. Bellatrix was laughing wickedly and smiling, as for some reason she thought she was going to get shagged up the ass. So she was laughing at Snape watching what she thought would be her pleasure and she gloried inwardly in the attention she was getting, while Snape was being ignored. Her black eyes sparkled towards Snape standing in the meager light emanating from the doorway. Snape saw Voldemort raise his arm, and for a moment he almost laughed as he thought Voldemort was actually going to spank Bellatrix! He probably thought as he could not see well inside, they were only shadows to him.

But then Snape saw that Voldemort was actually holding his wand raised, calculating what to do. Snape thought Belltrix was posed there like his Lord's little puppy dog and he remarked abruptly breaking the momentary silence, "You should collar her, My Lord."

Voldemort responded with some amusement, "Perhaps I should, Severus. But some other time, as I know what I shall do with her…"

At her Lord's assent to Snape's comment, Bellatrix had lurched in anger, but before she could retaliate, he pummeled his wand through Bellatrix's anus, sneering harshly, "Crucio!"

"Yeow!…Yeow!," Bellatrix screamed like a feline cat.

Voldemort had stuck half of his thirteen-and-a-half-inch yew wand up the witch's ass-hole. It did not matter if it was unsanitary, for wands come into contact with dirty things all the time and further, he had inserted the wand through plenty of vaginas over the years, so as to utilize the contraception spell, which is totally fail-proof.

Her anus became internally bruised and blistered, which is the effect of a prolonged crucio on an isolated region of the body. Voldemort could of done this to her face, but he wanted it done on a spot nobody would see, for the simple reason, he could avoid a dilemma, and Bellatrix revealing the truth if people asked curious questions.

By now, the blossoming from her round, curvy buttocks was a red river, and like a waterfall it fell making little crimson flowers of blood dot the floor. He continued to fist her with his wand, thinking it was the perfect torture to punish and correct the dirty, wanton witch's behavior.

Finally he was done, Snape had been quick on the uptake: casting the muffliato incantation over the area, and so nobody could have even heard Bellatrix's screams.

He wrenched his wand out of her creamy, yet dry skinned buttocks, and without communicating it was over, he suddenly transported the long table and chairs back to their usual place, whilst Snape turned the chandelier on magically and directed his wand from a distance, conjuring a purple-flamed magical fire.

Bellatrix sprung, grabbing her robes, her face turning an increasingly ugly, blotchy red, until she resembled a beet.

The Carrows were now present, standing beside Snape, holding bottles of wine. Bellatrix had her robes and red velvet cape on again.

Snape said, "Ingenious method of crucio, My Lord…" And as Bellatrix tried to sneak by, he waspishly whispered, "Enjoy your spanking, Bellatrix?"

"It was a formal punishment Snape," she retorted through clenched teeth.

And Bellatrix and Snape each exchanged with each other looks of mutual loathing. Bellatrix marched, still proudly out of the room, limping slightly, yet managing not to wince at all, as it was if she was desensitized from the pain. She had finally gotten her much deserved comeupance, as for once Voldemort was treating Belltrix cruelly, unlike the recent Malfoys being targets. Of course, he had punished her many times before, but this is perhaps one of the most severe incidents.

Swiftly, Snape raised his wand, locking the drawing room door, and checking for the detection of muffliato, still being on the vicinity to keep out eavesdroppers, whilst the Carrows demanded of him why the floor was sopping wet, as their shoes squeaked as they approached the table.

Snape shook his head, shrugging, and feigned looking bewildered , saying colloquially, (which is not his usual style of speech, but worked to cover this siutation up for Voldemort), "I dunno..."


	31. Festival of the Pure Bloods 2

Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods

Voldemort had revived himself to calm after the disaster with Bellatrix, so that nobody could even detect his anger. It was now pushed from his mind, sitting at the head of the table. The table was returned to its usual place in the center of the room once again. The pallor of him shone and his eyes glinted, becoming ever darker perhaps from the firelight behind him, the purple flames dancing like shadows on the walls and floor. Thoughts of gloom spread throughout the darkness of Voldemort's mind, as he rolled his wand over the surface with malaise.

The Carrows each pulled the stopper on the two bottles of wine, with their wand. 

Amycus, the bloke of the two Carrow siblings, poured some of the blood-red wine into conjured goblets. Placing one before Voldemort, he said carefully "Pomegranate Elf-Made Wine, My Lord."

Voldemort did not even touch the drink, but waited. He seemed to be conveying a hint of untrustworthiness about the wine. 

Amycus and Alecto poured themselves a goblet and then so did Severus Snape.

Voldemort did not take a sip of the wine, but the others did. Instead, he leaned against the back of the chair, leisurely, and then stretched his white hands out in front of the goblet, the detailed emerald and silver studded forearm bands glittering.

"Although this is only for a meeting with me tonight regarding plans that are about a month in advance, it should be clear why I have requested the three of you. Monday, the Daily Prophet will announce that you, Severus Snape, are the confirmed Headmaster of Hogwarts…"

Voldemort inclined his head rigidly towards Snape to his immediate right. It seemed he had not moved a single muscle though, as nobody could detect the movement in that vicar like collar.

Looking thoughtfully ahead into the distance, across the table he continued, "The youth belongs to me, and I shall yield them to no one. Our educational system may be renowned the world over for the best, yet it is to be destroyed. Refined too, yet ultimately destroyed…."

At these shocking words, Snape couldn't help but widen his eyes indignantly. Luckily, Voldemort did not see. Finally, Voldemort's hands were cupping his goblet, and he was taking a measured sip of the wine, as the proof it was innocuous came from the others taking their drinks originating from the same bottles.

After the stunned silence, to which he drank to, Voldemort continued, "Weakness shall no longer be tolerated at Hogwarts…Strength of character and mind, in strict terms of magical ability shall be rewarded."

"And what of the security for Hogwarts, My Lord?"

"I shall have dementors stationed outside every entrance to the grounds to prevent outsiders. Visitors will be subjected to a thorough search. And…I know why you ask this of me, Severus. You are worried you will be killed by some angry student or staff member seeking revenge over the death of Dumbledore. I assure you, that neither the students nor the staff may threaten the Headmaster's life. For be it known, that whoever kills my…top lieutenant, I will kill… slowly - a most painful death."

"I was not worried, My Lord," Snape said and he added, "But, of course I shall announce your warning at the start of term speech…"

"But what about the sorting ceremony? Shall we keep that untouched, My Lord?"

"For now…for now the sorting may stay. Yet we shall do away with the house point system, as alternative methods of correction will suffice. Points are a trifle waste of time, and encourages discordance and competition. We shall also ban Quidditch completely, through reenacting whatever educational decree disbanded it during the ministry's involvement in Hogwarts two year ago.

"I understand Potter…he will not return to school. He knows I am hunting him, and unfortunately he may not be foolish enough to take bait," Voldemort added as he always seemed to bring up Harry Potter unpredictably out of nowhere.

Snape nodded heartily to those words, in total agreement. "Yes – that is true, My Lord. But what of Lucius? I mean, regarding his former role as a school governor. You must understand - Lucius has the school's best interests at heart and you know his strong stance against muggleborns. I think he is very upset at being thrown off the school board…"

Voldemort cocked his head, considering for a short moment. Then his slit pupils seemed to roll up to the ceiling, the eyes bulging with anger, popping out of the lash-less lids. Intransigently he explained, "Lucius…is not to be on the school board. His influence is full of his own self-centered desires, usurping his power for further enroaching of the ministry. I am not sorry to see him go… I am currently playing a game, if you will with the Malfoys. They believe I will not allow their son, to return to school, but ultimately I shall. It matters not, their boy, Draco is useless …."

Alecto was suddenly giggling mischievously, reacting to these words about the Malfoy's state. Her brother, Amycus joined with a nearly identical wheezy giggle. Voldemort looked towards them, and finally making eye contact, they stopped laughing, Alecto starting to feign a sneezing fit.

"What could possibly be funny?," Snape asked.

"Nothing, actually. We wanted to know what our role as co-deputy headmaster will be?," answered Amycus eagerly.

"It is very simple, you are in charge of all discipline…," Voldemort answered tersely.

Alecto, the witch tried to prevent laughing again at these words, making hiccuping noises. "Oh good…I enjoy punishment!," she said enthusiastically.

Amycus added, constricted with less emotion than his sister, "Yes, we will make discipline a top priority…"

"What kind of punishments do you suggest, My Lord?" Alecto breathed s if with wonder. 

"Students are permitted, no - encouraged to punish those that have earned detentions. They should start to have a proficiency in the cruciatus curse. Likewise, caning, whipping, the birch rod, and chaining in the dungeons should be common, just as it was during my time, with that caretaker Apollyon Pringle so long ago. Never done to me, of course…"

Amycus and Alecto gazed at Voldemort now, as if they had never seen him before. They could not imagine Lord Voldemort as a student.

"Our caretaker, Mr. Filch will be manic…," Snape muttered but nobody seemed to have heard.

"In my time, it was of course, Headmaster Dippet who ultimately enforced this…But what say you as the Headmaster, Severus?" asked Voldemort quietly, reflecting on his past.

Snape's eyes were glittering with a nasty smile that was more sneer around his mouth, "Do I have the last say..with the power to expel rule-breakers?"

"Yes…for the serious infractions it is up to you to punish them, with of course that highest power to expel. But then again, as Headmaster you may discipline through any method you like to use in order to make miscreants understand…But ideally, misbehaving students will be referred by all teachers to the Carrows…"

Alecto smiled again, and grabbed a fistful of an hors-deourves from a platter. She crunched loudly on a mouthful of human fingernails that resembled Frito chips. She then proceeded to gobble the entire plate, without offering any to the others, but they did not care for them anyway.

"So..Basically there aren't any limits, My Lord?" said Amycus, feeling as if he was being freed, getting to unleash all his pent-up fantasies.

"Anything that suits your fancy…But I must caution you not to go too far. I do not want magical blood spilt at Hogwarts, as I do not seek to have racially pure ones dead…But this does not forego, the regimentation and comformity to the new rules. I require cohesion and cooperation, which you must enforce."

"So that is for the discipline…What about the curriculum, My Lord?," said Snape curiously, interested to see what would happen with Defence Against the Dark Arts.

As if seeing into Snape's mind, he replied, "No longer called Defence Against the Dark Arts, it is now just the Dark Arts. And Amycus, you will be the professor…"

Snape swallowed hard, glaring at the man. He caught, the icy glare, looking taken aback, not understanding why Snape was staring at him with nothing less than hatred now.

Voldemort continued, "Solely knowledge of the Dark Arts is ruinious, there must be practical application encouraged daily."

"A mandatory class is what was once called, Muggle Studies. As you will recall, I ended Charity Burbage's life just a few weeks ago, the one whom had taught the class. Now it shall be a mandatory course designed to teach the children how we were driven into hiding by the muggles being vicious towards us, and explaining that the natural order is being reestablished for their own good."

Alecto surmised, "Meaning…that muggles are stupid and dirty little animals. Right, My Lord?"

"Precisely," said Voldemort. "Precisely the truth to preach, Alecto."

"In sum, my plans for Hogwarts is basically the education of young sorcerers to be an indoctrination of my values, with an emphasis on magical development. It is crucial they embrace the way of the pure-blood, their values, and in the long run to prepare this generation for war. For what I have in mind extends far beyond the country. I shall need this young army, as I had wanted to build once before…Now that Dumbledore is gone, Hogwarts is finally mine to take. My army shall conquer the other magical people, who are not ours. But to do so, they must first overcome their fears through the severest tests. Out of it shall come the idealized version of the magical race, the one we have always aspired for….and hopefully being under my supervision from a young age, this shall bring me what I expect of them… "

Voldemort rose unexpectedly from his chair, and opened the Drawing Room doors and gliding down the corridor to survey the action going on elsewhere in the manor house.

Note: I'd like to say that the next scene has a lot of Draco in it…it is sort of an unexpected turn of events as Draco has a significant part in the plot.


	32. Festival of the Pure Bloods 3

Continuation of….

**Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods**

Draco Malfoy entered some kind of sumptuous salon or billiard room. Over his shoulder was hoisted an old-fashioned brown wooden radio. The white-blonde haired young man carried it over his shoulder like it was a boom box. His friend, Theodore Nott, whose elderly father is a Death Eater followed him. Theodore was a tall, thin weedy looking young man. The two of them had spent the first hour of the party, after the muggle sporting wandering aimlessly around the mansion, stopping in Draco's bedchamber and retrieving the cheap radio, which is virtually the only inexpensive object in Draco's room.

The voices rose and fell with sudden odd fluctuation, and mixed with the dozens and dozens of conversations was an ominous echo. Ancient sounding wizard music lilted from several magical devices, which resembled wind chimes. It resonated throughout the atmosphere. The chimes were magical devices resembling spades with a similar effect that the music box in the Black's house that induces sleep has. Yet this instrument made one experience both bloodthirsty urges to be violent, and sexual arousal. The chimes were set up at intervals, in corners throughout most of the party's action in the house.

Despite the erotic, violent music, Draco could still hear the radio waves buzzing into his ear. "There is also an ambitious, wonderful plan to construct loudspeakers for our newly improved program to be heard in London. Soon the speakers will be in Diagon and Knockturn Alley to accompany your shopping…" It was the voice of the announcer, listing the latest events in the Wizarding world of Great Britain, which of course is not being accurately reported. The Death Eaters, besides taking over the Daily Prophet, had also subordinated all indepdendent regional stations now under a central authority run by imperiused wizards. This taken over company is called The Wizarding Wireless Broadcasting Company.

The room was full of over a hundred witches and wizards, mingling, and between them in spaces floated bottles of a diverse array of alcohol. None of the house-elves served as bartenders, for it is Wizarding custom for drinks to float through the air at parties, in which one could simply grab whatever.

Not only alcohol was rife but plumes of smoke spiked the atmosphere in an array of colors and shapes, as several people were smoking everything from cigarettes to cigars to other more lethal substances. It seemed like they were all oblivious to the reality of the horrors going on in the real world, like they had all forgotten about Voldemort's take over at the ministry, for tonight all they cared about was their own pleasure.

A couple, making out, with passion, the man nibbling on the earlobe of the witch, under her pointed hat, flitted past Draco and Theodore, darting between the rooms nearby.

"Let's go to the Malfoy's baths…" the witch purred to him.

In the center, between a line of golden shaded lamps, making the room sparkle through the smoky haze, was Lucius Malfoy, confident, and in his element. Colliding onto the table with a pile of galleons was an opened treasure box of his wife's jewels some of them as large as coconuts. Lucius's smooth hands ran energetically over the items others were putting down bidding for Narcissa's treasures. He grasped the pimp cane, his wrist twisting as he held it up, using it to attract more attention about to announce the asking prices. He was acting as a shrewd auctioneer, clad in silver robes with black velvet embroidery.

"This evening I'm selling…this beautiful encrusted ruby and sapphire mirror and comb set for…one thousand galleons…Or how about these diamond perfume bottles for just three thousand galleons?"

Behind Lucius, was a display case of obsolete weapons that wizards had once fought each other with centuries ago: as assortment of knives and swords within the case. Lucius was actually even considering of parting with that, too.

It was most peculiar for Lucius to be selling; his own benign material things without a presumed reason, and some of the witches gaped at him. A young woman jumped at the offer, vying for the accessories, and manipulating, and cajoling who was her fiancée to buy them for her this instant.

The man agreed with her desires, and pulled out an enormous sack of gold galleons, crashing them to the table next to Narcissa's things. He had obviously magicked the pocket of his robes to be deeper, for the party tonight, for he had wanted to impress others with his own money.

"I'll pay the rest later… Through a bank note to get inside my vault, Lucius," and he slapped onto the ebony counter what looked like a check with the Gringott's seal.

Lucius smiled icily, and the woman grabbed the comb set greedily, magicking them to fit inside her little purse.

Draco was prowling around the room, and he picked off a bottle of butterbeer, floating around at a languid pace.

"New codifications of laws include a campaign against the muggles…If interested contact the Ministry of Magic, Department of Muggle Sporting and after a selective interview process, you may be hired to be a Snatcher!," spoke the Minister for Magic, Pius Thickness, disseminating his speech to the whole country. He was unknowingly, making Voldemort's propaganda infiltrate every magical home. What was worse, listening to other broadcasts was now illegal and all foreign broadcasts had been banned.

He opened the can, swilling its frothy warmness down his throat, a pleasant sensation for his senses. Theodore, after much examination of the variety of alcoholic beverages found the mulled mead he was looking for.

"Now we got the drinks, let's go somewhere quiet to listen to the broadcast," Theodore nudged his friend quietly.

"In a minute, Nott," rasped Draco. Draco's gray eyes narrowed in the direction of his father, as he watched him selling some of their prized possessions.

Meanwhile, more of the guests were at card games, in a style of Wizarding poker. Some of them were gambling off fistfuls of silver and gold unicorn hair or Aromantula venom, as well as other valuable commodities. Fenrir Greyback was situated with Yaxley, Jugson, and the two Avery men, playing a deck of self-shuffling blood strained cards. Fenrir's robes were still coated with blood, now dried, and so dark was the blood, his ceremonial robes gleamed purple. Yaxley, shook his head with deep disgust, smelling the blood on him, and resisting the urge to spit on the werewolf, he whipped his wand out, and the blood was suctioned like a vacuum into oblivion.

Voldemort suddenly entered the room, his presence really did give off a draft, as he stood in those sweeping green and black robes, with the tapestry-like cape trailing him like he was a king. Many of the heads turned in the room, some scurrying into the crowd, afraid to be singled out by him. Draco was too intent on listening to the radio, whilst swilling on the butterbeer to notice Voldemort. The Dark Lord just stood there, cast like the exalted god, without anyone interacting with him, just holding his wand like a scepter. It was just too noisy, too many distractions, not to mention a lot of them were getting drunk. So it was really impossible for any of them to care to acknowledge him. Some of the people, who spotted him, glanced over their shoulders, and turned their backs, pretending they had not noticed him.

A moment later and as quickly as Voldemort had entered, he was gone. Lucius continued making his deals. Draco and Theodore ran out of the room.

Draco complained, irritably to something Theodore had said, "No, we're not kids anymore!" Passing some of the Snatchers patrolling the corridors he added, "…But that doesn't mean we can't have any fun…I've got an idea…," Draco said in that same nasty drawl he had inherited from his father.

Draco and Theodore continued through a maze of short passages, all the while listening to the marching tune, coming out of the Wizarding Wireless, as the evening's daily show now ended with this rousing beat.


	33. Festival of the PureBloods 4

Note: Something I wanted to tell everyone about this fic: it is very much in line with the Shakespeare saying, "the course of true love never did run smooth

Continuation of…

Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods

Several minutes later Draco and Theodore Nott returned this time not with the old-fashioned radio or their drinks. Draco was rather holding a black, cylindrical can and in his other he held down something squirming inside Draco's robes, waiting to get free from the inside pocket of his dressrobes.

The weedy-looking sidekick, Theodore, complained, "I'm not sure this is a smart operation, Draco…You don't even have a plan!"

They went back past the billiard rooms, and then navigated the same sloping maze of short corridors again. They continued onward, going past two wide-open berths within a minute's distance between each other. They were the archaic broom cupboards Dolohov and Rowle had been placed in for their solitary confinement yesterday.

"Well, here's the little tykes we past before, remember?," Draco commented with a careless air.

"Yes, I remember..," said Theodore, surly in tone. He was recalling their wanderings around the mansion of earlier that evening.

Draco turned the brass doorknob of a door with a painting of young child wizards surrounded by beautiful magical creatures. Inside could be he heard the chattering and jabbering of children.

The door would not budge. "Alohomora…"

Apparently, the youngsters were being locked in for the party.

Inside was a group of children from the tender age of two and all the way to a pair of eleven-year-olds. The ages of the wizarding children ranged everywhere between two and eleven and there was over twenty of them.

Several of them were riding on toy broomsticks, grazing just above knee-length. At the ends of the nursery room were several toy chests, apparently serving as goal posts, in place of the six golden hoops of a real Quidditch match.

Just that moment, a little girl, dumped a Quaffle inside a toy chest at one end, and yelled, "Scored! That's fifty to ten…to the Wimbourne Wasps in the lead…"

"Yeah, Desiree!," said another child, beaming victoriously at Desiree from behind. The girl, Desiree, the only one in plain black robes, strangely resembled Bellatrix Lestrange having similar dark, glamorous features.

The other children, mostly the youngest ones were acting as spectators, and the ones for that team cheered, waving plain yellow and black flags, representing that Quidditch team, the Wimborune Wasps. While the others representing the Appleby Arrows were waving blue flags, and booing.

"Hate to break up a mock Qudditch game," announced Draco, emphasizing the word mock meanly.

"But I have a….true bedtime story to tell you," he added enticingly.

Hardly any of the children paid mind to Draco, except a few curious glances. After a moment, Draco raced into the middle of the room, caught the slow motion Bludger easily, and threw it at one of the children.

It hit a boy of about eight, walloping him in the chest. And suddenly all eyes were on Draco and Theodore, the children believing they could tattle-tale on the intruders.

The little boy began to cry with loud sobs, clutching his chest where the Bludger had impacted him.

"Now I've got your attention…," Draco said smirking. "I have to warn you that this place is haunted…I would know. I grew up here. So, at midnight every night, some very violent ghosts are going to come into the nursery like they always do. If I were you, I'd leave right now before this place gets rough…"

"Where are the ghosts now?" piped a little girl of six, nervously.

Some of the older kids rolled their eyes, filled with suspicion.

"Right behind the walls of this room actually…Let me show you round the corner outside. Come on!"

The children all hurried to follow the teenager, and Draco suddenly realized that his friend, Theodore had abandoned him. Draco did not feel annoyed though, he was used to this particular Slytherin refusing to join his gang at school.

Draco led them out the nursery, shutting the door. Then they went down the end of the corridor traversing down a ramp, until they came to a tapestry concealing something.

"There behind this tapestry…"

The children sped up, onto Draco's heels, some of them tugging on his lime green and gold robes, asking if it was safe to go in.

Unceremoniously, Draco unveiled the tapestry.

The oldest kid, Desiree said blankly, "So, what?"

For all they saw was a narrow spiral staircase.

Draco answered hollowly for dramatic effect, "The spirits are down there." He proceeded down the steps, feigning great trepidation, going slow and cautiously. The children followed, and a few flights later, they had reached an underground claustrophobic chamber.

Surrounding the chamber in shelves were strange catacombs of stuffed, apparently deceased house-elves. It looked and smelled like a morgue, the shelves lining far back, as far the eye could see, stretching out in a single narrow, yet expansive lane. It might have stretched the length of the manor. Thousands of elves packed like sardines, truly a morbid sight for the eyes.

The baneful place was lit only by stone torches. Desiree surmised the room, her curly head shaking. "You know, this is actually a cool place for us to play in. Thanks for trying to scare us!" she scoffed.

"I wasn't…Well, I had better get out of here, before the spirits are disturbed," Draco added ominously.

Some of the children were still watching him closely, still not sure whether they believed the story or not. Afterall, they had not explored the room, yet.

"Oh, shit!…Sparks are flying out of my wand, it is the first sign of an evil presence…" Draco said, and he actually sounded scared, raising his hawthorn wand, green and silver sparks shooting out.

Some of the kids shivered. Others, the older ones, were already exploring the depths of the dimly lit expansive, straight labyrinth of catacombs.

When none of them were looking, Draco suddenly threw the cylindical can after opening it into the air. A burst of sprinkled powder shot through the vicinity and dispersed faster than the eye can see. Then the entire place spread into pitch, solid darkness, an unnatural heaviness descending on the atmosphere. He had thrown all the remains of his Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.

Draco began to bang his feet against the first step of the pewter stairs, on the pretense that he was running away up them. All the children began to scream and cried immediately. The loud sobs of panic getting incessantly louder every second.

Draco took the squirming thing out of his pocket. He placed a candle in the center of a shriveled hand and with his wand lit it, making a little fiery flame. He then darted forward, with the object in his hand all the while. It was a hand of glory, which is known to give light only to the holder. The twenty children, meanwhile, were becoming lost inside unable to see a thing.

Some of them were crying. Mixes of "I'm Scared!" "Mum!" "Daddy!" and "Help!" And a few of the youngest toddlers had retreated into the darkness, cowering on the floor screaming high-pitched shrills.

Draco chased after the children for about five minutes, and actually disturbed some of the corpse house-elves from their chambers, and with his wand tried to animate them, but only wound up levitating them. This, unfortunately, convinced the oldest kids, who were now yelling in terror. Some of them calling out their younger siblings name's, desperate in their search for them.

Finally, after a good five minutes, some of the children started to find their way back up. They ran crashing up the stairs terrified, Draco following them, clambering loudly up the finely-wrought pewter stairs.

Draco emerged into the light, actually purposefully knocking a kid over, in mock fright. Finally, they had reached the summit and the light at the end of the tunnel. Draco looked up from the ground, to see of all people, his teacher, Severus Snape standing there like a dark shadow, crossing his arms furiously over his Death Eater ceremonial robes, which greatly resemble his Hogwarts teaching robes.

"Having fun are we?" he said in a low voice, menacingly, his eyes black flashing dangerously into Draco's gray ones.

Draco smirked a little and shrugged his shoulders. He could care less, if old Snape knew. They were not at Hogwarts right now. But he saw, flanking Snape several concerned parents, regarding the Malfoy's son in disgust.

"I just arrived. The portraits having informed us. The portraits had been ranting about a disturbance going on. On how the children had been lured from their nursery by a teenager, and could be heard making a great, insipid racket. The portraits reported that the children were, screaming, terrified. So much so, that they might be in real danger. Clearly that was not accurate…." Obviously, Draco who was never the best planner had not remembered the portraits could report on him.

Snape in his rage, finally noticed the dozen children standing around watching Snape and Draco converse. "Go!," he motioned to them with his arms wildly, and they ran from him at once, parting through the tapestry.

"Uh- I have to go now too," Draco said off-handedly.

But Snape was too quick for Draco: he grabbed Draco's arm, and held him back. "You're not going anywhere, Draco until we settle this, and I teach you how to act!"

And still, holding Draco's arm in a vice-like grip, Snape practically dragged him down a different corridor from the one the children had scurried away. Meanwhile, a few more of the children's parents were making their way up, looking for their children, and to rescue the few left trapped inside the catacombs. Draco got a brief glimpse, of his own mother. Feeling an instinctive urge to call out for help and support against Snape he said, "Mother! Mother!" But it was to no avail. She could not hear him in the midst of all the commotion: children fleeing the catacombs, parents hugging their children, glad they were safe and not hurt.

They continued down the new corridor, and then turned into a different one passing a giant grandfather clock that was displaying the time of a quarter after eleven. They also past the usual daunting statues of mean faces and the suits of armor.

Snape did not say a word as they finally stopped in front of an uninhabited guest bedroom in a deserted corridor. He pulled Draco in it along with himself, not even bothering to shut the door for privacy.

"What about Theodore Nott? He went along with it and he knew!," Draco broke in, his voice sounding strangely distant and unlike himself, for he was afraid of what Snape would do to him.

"He got cold feet pretty soon though, didn't he? Don't try to lay the blame on another," Snape answered with cool vindictiveness. "Besides - I know Nott. He's one of my students in Slytherin house, and he is not one to participate in such ridiculous childish antics like you do, Draco!"

Snape's face was twisted, the colour draining from it until it was sallow in complexion. There could be no doubt he was absolutely livid towards Draco's prank. Scowling incredulously, Snape released his grip over the young man, wrenching him free roughly.

Draco, backed a few steps away, as Snape descended on him like an over-grown bat again, "What? You can't do anything to me here…I'm not a child…," Draco added roughly, then looking haughty and taller he said, "I'm also a Death Eater, you know. I'm in the ranks. We're on equal ground."

And for the first time ever, he pulled his sleeve up, showing Snape his tattoo branded under his left fore-arm. Snape hissed, expelling his irritation, and then pushed Draco by the collar of his dressrobes, and threw him against the wall. He roared, "A poor excuse of a Death Eater tonight, if that's what you want to call yourself, Draco. Death Eater…At a party in honor of Wizarding culture at the top of it's class, you go and target their children…Children of the pure-blood race…It was foolish beyond reason, Draco!"

Snape lunged for Draco again, where he was in a heap upon the floor. He dragged Draco by the vicar-like collar. Snape looked into Draco's eyes curiously, doing Legilimency, before Draco could remember his rudimentary Occlumency learnt last year. "So you disturbed the catacombs of an antique ancient burial ground as well?"

"Yes," Draco grudgingly voiced, trying not to feel guilty. "I'm of age!," he added a second later, taking great offence.

"Again I say it: I will teach you how to act…," Snape said, and he started to look Draco over, as if sizing him up, as he was contemplating over what to do. He broke the silent pause, "Regardless of being of age, you certainly don't act it. Furthermore, it is my right to correct you, as a youth who attends Hogwarts, and I am Headmaster. Did you know that?….Now, I won't be so brutal to deliver the Cruciatus, although it is recommended to be in use…Nevertheless…You deserve…a good caning…"

And spitefully, before Draco could react, Snape pushed Draco back again, and again, smacking him around, until he launched him onto the four-poster bed in the center of the guest bedroom. Snape looked around, and then found a bar in the closet. He broke free of it with a spell from his wand, and then with another spell, transfigured the rod into a cane. Without a moment's notice, he sliced it through the air, testing its capabilities.

Draco turned around, his milky-white complexion, turning gray, watching Snape, who in one hand holding the wand, the other a hooked cane.

"Stay there!," Snape said sharply, as he watched Draco, craning his neck from behind, where he was prone on the plush bed.

"What? You can't do this!…Sir, what about detention? Give me detentions for when I get back!" Draco argued heatedly.

Snape wrenched back Draco's lime green robes with the gold edges on them, to reveal the boy's boxers. He did not remove them. Simultaneously he spoke, "The Dark Lord has set up a very strict routine for the way things will be run, that I must enforce. The kind of behavior you showed tonight, your usual antics is not condoned when I am headmaster….And, detentions, such as line-writing is no longer an option…The Cruciatus Curse is going to be used for those who've earned them…So-" and he pulled the cane back, and then it hit Draco's flesh. "Consider I am doing you a favour, Draco."

After one stroke, Snape decided the boxers were not enough and pulled them down. "Stop this at once, sir! Father is not going to be too happy to hear you caned me…"

"You don't know that, Draco. Afterall, you embarrassed them tonight. Furthermore, Lucius has been kicked off the school board," spoke Snape blandly, as he continued to strike Draco with the cane, loud smacking noises resounding in the room.

Draco moaned in horrible pain, as it seared his skin, throbbing horribly, yet he was listening to the words, which were hurting him as well. Snape did not stop until he had applied a whopping thirteen strokes, what he considered the maximum amount to inflict on a schoolboy.

Snape threw the cane carelessly aside, and then knelt on top of Draco over the bed, pulling him to his feet. "I am making you my head boy, Draco…Yet I shall not tolerate your habit of bullying younger children. Remember all those times you took advantage of being a prefect?…The marks I just gave you had better serve as a reminder to you, as a lesson...For I do not seek to punish the head boy any further….It would be a disgrace!"

Draco, looked up at Snape, tears hiding behind his eyes and mouthed with reverent respect, "Yes, headmaster. I will do as you ask."

Snape finally looked to be losing his irate fury at Draco, and he relaxed. Draco couldn't help but rub himself from behind.

"And yet..," added Draco on a different note suddenly, his voice was positively brittle., "Look what you've done to my father, sir! It's all your fault father is no longer important! You stole all his power, just like I thought you wanted to steal my glory in killing Dumbledore!"

And at that, Draco began to tremble. He wanted to cry so badly. But he wouldn't in front of Snape, instead his face suddenly showed stress, making him look well beyond his seventeen years.

"It is not to be blamed on me, Draco. The Dark Lord has made it so, not I…"

Then Snape actually patted Draco on the back, as if to comfort him, and putting an arm around him, led him out of the bedroom.

Note: I think this represents exactly the type of childish antic Draco would be up to…mean, but not overly cruel, and lacking a real plan and ultimately harmless. There is tons of evidence in the books that he liked to bully children smaller and younger than him. I'm sorry that once again, caning is in my story…I think I am overly fixated on that, but it works well.


	34. Festival of the Pure Bloods 5

Note: Something I wanted to tell everyone about this fic: it is very much in line with the Shakespeare saying, "the course of true love never did run smooth

**Continuation and final installment of….**

Chapter Ten: Festival of the Pure-Bloods

On his trip back to the Drawing Room, after spending time surveying the party, Voldemort went down the Main Staircase, and then past another corridor. A gang of Snatchers patrolling the manor for security saw him. As he past the Snatchers, they knelt in their black and yellow uniforms, feeling terrified and awed to get so close to him. Voldemort did not acknowledge them as he past by though, and they continued on their way in another direction.

His stride was muffled over the thick purple carpet, as he past the portraits of Malfoy ancestors along the way. One of them who looked to be from the eighteenth century in a ruffled shirt and a bowed pony-tail addressed Voldemort (not understanding who he is), "Good gentleman…Did you hear of the Malfoy boy's conniving trick on the quaintest visitors?"

Voldemort snapped slightly in surprise, but then dismissed it with a wave like batting a fly away, a careless air about him for this news. He did not even look at the portraits, so eager was he to move forward with his own plans consuming his mind. He turned right and entered the Drawing Room doors thrown back widely. His wand out, he waved it over the entrance, casting the spell that would make outsiders merely hear a buzzing going on, so as to prevent eavesdropping.

Sitting in front of the marble embossed table, Voldemort waited silently at the head of the table. He took out his pocketwatch consulting and reading the moons and stars etched on its face. He had told them to meet him here at half past eleven, if they were late…

But then three men entered and solemnly saluted, "Hail the Dark Lord."

Voldemort nodded appraisingly and spoke rhetorically, "You are very nearly late. Take your place, wherever. We have much to discuss."

Yaxley, Selwyn and Travers took a seat in the straight, high-backed chairs. Yaxley squared his shoulders wondering what the purpose of a meeting during the 'Festival of the Pure-Bloods' could be for precisely.

He then stretched out a hand, and selfishly grabbed the bottle of wine left there from before at Voldemort's prior boardroom meeting concerning Hogwarts. Yaxley poured himself a fresh gobletful of the pomegranate elf-made wine out of his conjured container. Remembering Voldemort, he placed the bottle close to his master.

Voldemort took it and whilst pouring himself his third drink of the night continued, "We must ensure that things remain quiet at the ministry. What was most successful about our take-over of the Wizard world, is the fact that I have done it in the shadows. Silently, and most convenient of all, only a sparse quantity of magical blood was spilt…"

And Voldemort took a measured sip of the wine. "When we find Potter and I kill him, it shall be widely declared to the public at once. In the meantime, the more supporters of Potter we kill, the better. Now…Travers make sure the Prophet posts an advertisement every day for a reward in the capture of Undesirable Number One. We shall make it…two hundred thousand galleons in prize money."

"Yes, My Lord," said Travers. This price set for Potter's head is the equivalent of about a billion in most muggle currencies today.

"And once he is dead…My full reign begins. Potter's death will be the marker to all those deluded fools, squashing all resistance. The Order of the Phoenix finally meeting its inevitable entropy," Voldemort said softly, and there was relish in his voice at these thoughts.

"Meanwhile, we continue with the mass executions like the muggle sporting we engaged in this evening." His tone changed to pragmatism. "We will need... someone to run an organization inside the Ministry of Magic to rid the country of the muggle-borns or mudbloods…Any ideas?"

The three Death Eaters glanced inquisitively at their fellow comrades. Yaxley cleared his throat, and inquired, "As you made me Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, My Lord, what role do I have?"

Voldemort looked straight at Yaxley with a knowingness, aware the man was greedy and ambitious, and something like a smile pursed Voldemort's mouth.

He consoled, "Do not worry, Yaxley. Lord Voldemort provides you a significant niche in the plan."

"Yet, I am looking for someone in the ministry, who is not a Death Eater. Significant, but not quite one of our people."

Selwyn bit his lip, looking pensive. "I believe I know just the person, My Lord. Aunt Dolores…Dolores Jane Umbridge, in fact, who is Senior Undersecretary to the Minister. In the past, she has written successful legislation against all the half-breeds, giants, and werewolves. Dolores could be very influential, My Lord. She was here, earlier this evening. I wanted to bring her along to this meeting, but I am afraid she left…."

Voldemort decisively replied with some satisfaction, "Then it is settled. The Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge is made head of the newly founded Muggle-Born Registration Commission. She will interrogate the Mudbloods brought in for questioning in a sort of kangeroo style court proceedings…And, you, Yaxley will assist her."

"Thank-you, My Lord," grunted Yaxley as Voldemort nodded towards him.

"Her job will also be keeping files on every ministry employee. Their 'Blood Status', 'Family', and 'Security' will be monitored. Furthermore, she will write up a document and have a group of assembly workers create pamphlets of the document, thus mailing my propaganda into every wizard home…"

"But, My Lord…Could you describe this Muggle-Born Registration Commission in more detail?" Yaxley said somewhat impulsively.

"It is a survey of the so-called 'Muggle-borns.' It will be claimed recent research unearthed the atrocity of the Muggle-borns continued existence, and this research is what spurred the survey. My political puppets, officials including Thickness and Umbridge will send out a plain summons to citizens who do not come from Wizarding families for an "interview". They will be unceremoniously locked away and later interrogated. At every interrogation all of them are always pronounced guilty of their crime, which is thievery of magic. Afterwards, a Dementor, acting as court marshal, escorts the Mudblood away to be executed through a Kiss. And left to die…..Yet the imprisonment and mass executions will not be publicized.

"So, Travers, keep your eye on the Daily Prophet, making sure this is never mentioned. The public must remain oblivious, as not to horrify them and this also makes the criminals compliant to the purification process, as it is much easier to put a Mudblood on trial when they come willingly….Yet, there are always those who flee punishment, as some won't appear at their arraignment. They will be caught either by my army of Dementors, my army of Inferi, the Snatchers, or of course, my Death Eaters…."

"How exactly will this benefit the Pure-Blood race, My Lord?," asked Selwyn, taking a large gulp of his wine.

There could be no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice at his reponse, "Rounding up the Muggle-born enemy sends out the correct message that magic can, and shall only be passed on by a witch and wizard reproducing. These Muggle-borns are a poor example of the weakness, for they are deprived of any genuine magical ancestry. Therefore, in comparison to a Pure-blood they are to be ridiculed as scum. The scum we have always known them as, the rest of the Wizarding World shall finally know as well."

"The idea is that the Muggle-borns have obtained their magical power, especially their wand, by theft or force. Because of this their wands will be snapped immediately after being brought into custody... The ministry's task is to root out these usurpers of magical power, as they dared steal our secrets. Secrets of Pure-blood tradition and pure-blood rightful monopoly on magic. And so…ministry officials like Umbridge will issue invitations to every so-called 'Muggle-born' to present themselves to my newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission and they will be rounded up, systematically imprisoned, interrogated and executed."

"Oh, excellent! This is an excellent method of weeding out those who never should have been granted the privilege to exist in our world, My Lord," added Selwyn arrogantly.

Voldemort did not respond. But he took something from one of his pockets inside his elaborate black dressrobes with the green and silver embroidery and the ruffle like a beard.

After delving inside, out came a small circular object that looked like a marble. Voldemort held it up to the light of the chandelier, examining it like it was a precious coin. It was a large round eyeball with a bright blue iris. He looked through the pupil of the magical eyeball and saw it was still an effective magical device.

Voldemort had taken it the night he and his crew had went after Harry Potter, who was being moved to another location. That night, Voldemort had killed the ex-auror, Alastor Moody. Once they had recovered the body, Voldemort had taken the corpse, feeding it to Nagini and keeping the eye, which for now had served as his latest memento, reminding him of the memory of murdering a victim.

Now, the eye no longer swiveled for it was no longer inhabited by a living being. It was fixed upward, gazing blindly, frozen in time from when he had cast the killing curse. Yet still, it was magical.

Voldemort peered through it, observing its works. Then, he lifted his wand off the table, and smiling with some kind of nostalgic feeling, he transfigured a telescopic attachment to what was once Mad-Eye Moody's eye.

He then handed it to Selwyn, who took it with surprise. He was puzzled, wondering why the Dark Lord would bestow on him a gift.

"For your Aunt Delores, Selwyn…For her to let them know, 'big brother is watching'," Voldemort dramatically explained.

"Certainly, My Lord," answered Selwyn, and he carefully tucked it away in the pocket of his dressrobes.

Travers took out of his robes a neatly folded copy of the latest edition of the Daily Prophet for Saturday, August 2, 1997.

"Here is how the Imperiused columnists reported your seizure of power…I assure you, it was subtle like you wanted it, My Lord."

Voldemort peered at the paper spread out in front of him, and then smoothed it down. The Daily Prophet showed a huge black-and-white photograph of a man with a sloping forehead and tiny eyes that gave the look that he was a crab, hiding under a rock. It was the Imperiused newly instated Minister, Pius Thickness. The red-slit eyes flashed rapidly, reading the headlines and skimming the main articles.

He looked over an article, reporting Scrimgeour's resignation, and the induction of the new Minister for Magic. Voldemort then briefed himself on the letters to the editor to see how the wider population was viewing the events. He was pleased to see how clueless they were and the common wizard (who had no ministry job) believed that they were safe, and their opinion that Thickness and the ministry was a fine establishment.

Travers broke the silence tensely, voicing a qualm, as he was scared to divulge to Voldemort, "I must let you know, My Lord…A wizard is circulating another paper called 'The Quibbler' and -"

"Nobody will believe that riff-raff," replied Voldemort in a clipped tone, as if it was conclusively positively definite he was right. He was familiar with the Quibbler, afterall. Of course, Voldemort is wrong, as later Xenophilious Lovegood would be threatened and his daughter, Luna imprisoned with Ollivander in the cellar of Malfoy Manor for writing the truth.

Issuing from their feet, suddenly below, was a scream of panic and what was more, sheer agony. It was louder than usual, and after it went on for several seconds. Voldemort rose from his seat.

"Excuse me, while I tend to the prisoner for a moment…" Apparently, Peter Pettigrew had forgotten his task of keeping watch over Ollivander and thus, Wormtail was not present to shut him up, instead. He would have to remind Wormtail of his responsibility at a later date….

Voldemort departed the Drawing Room, and glided down the hall, and the door burst open from the force of his wand. Lazily, he descended the short, narrow staircase and came to another door, which he burst open as well.

There was the kidnapped Wandmaker, huddled in the back corner, still screaming and rolling around. The last time Voldemort had been down in the basement, he had tortured the poor man for the mishap with borrowing Lucius's wand, which was destroyed because of Ollivander's advice. Yet ever since since Ollivander's imprisonment, beginning last year, it was seldom that the Dark Lord spoke personally to the old man, or even coming inside the cellar.

Voldemort stood over the desperate man, who was seemingly unaware of his surroundings, caught in some kind of nightmarish vision. It was the trauma of being kept in confinement and isolation for so long that was finally getting to him.

Voldemort jabbed his wand at the wizard and instantly the horrific cries were dispelled. He had cast a minor silencing charm. Ollivander became aware of his environment, and seeing the Dark Wizard standing over him, framed by the light of the ajar door upstairs, he shook convulsively and pressed himself into the wall, as if to protect himself. Ollivander held his bony hands up as if to appease Voldemort.  
He laughed a low cackle in response to the man's behaviour. To Voldemort, Ollivander was just an emaciated, pathetic man lying on a stone floor in a lonely cellar clad in a pile of filthy rags.

"Have you gone senile, Ollivander?…"

And at this taunt at Ollivander's terror and stress, the prisoner twisted in rags, at the familiar, awful sound of a voice of one his torturers.

"Soon I won't need to use you anymore, Ollivander. And you know what that means…" It meant Voldemort would finally kill him. Then Voldemort added more lightly, "But I would not even be looking for it, if it wasn't for you…" He was talking about the Unbeatable Wand, the Elder Wand.

And then Voldemort said sardonically, "I thank-you…" And then, "How useful you are for me, Ollivander. Your theoretical knowledge of magic…Yet, never willing…I am determined to keep you suffering…Death shall not be your release…"

Voldemort then added, as if emphatically, "Sorry…" The utterance of this word, was completely devoid of of true kindness.

Voldemort bent over the water jug, and filled the dry container with impure water, dispensing from his wand.

And then the charm over Ollivander's vocal cords broke, and he spoke, "I cannot believe I did not see this coming when you were an orphaned boy…I remember when I sold that wand and I remember you…"

Ollivander pointed feebly at the yew wand with a phoenix feather given by Fawkes inside it. Of course, Ollivander had a memory like a steel trap. He remembered every wand he had ever sold. It had been his life selling them.

Voldemort burst impatiently, "My wand is no longer good enough! I am after the Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick, the Unbeatable Wand! For, mastering it will make me unconquerable at last!"

And now, Voldemort stared wildly and brutishly down at Ollivander, filled with a rage from his impatience at not possessing it. Should he torture the man, tonight? See if there was any more information he was hiding?

There had been nothing sentimental in Ollivander's voice before, there was only bitter regret. He continued, filled with guilt, "IF only I knew what power you would yield…You are a terrible wizard - A terrible man…."

And Ollivander, shook in wretches of agony over the wracking his conscience was undergoing, a mental, rather than physical ailment.

Voldemort's nostrils flared. "You dare?!…" And then resisting letting out an insane litany of laughter Voldemort went on incredulously, "Terrible at wizardry?!... I? The greatest sorcerer, the most skilled that ever walked into that dingy shop of yours that first time, so many years ago!…And further, I am much, much more than a man."

"But you wouldn't understand," breathed Ollivander, his moon-like eyes shimmering with tears. "A wizard is more than his abilities…," he wisely retorted. There was a short pause, a few seconds of silence stretched between them.

"Is it really true that Dumbledore is d-dead?" Ollivander then asked miserably. He had heard this mentioned for the first time ever this evening, during Voldemort's rallying speech, which of course was magnified, booming throughout the entire property.

Voldemort peered down at him. "You heard correctly, Ollivander. Dumbledore's demise was brought about by myself, of course as we knew it would be in the end. Lord Voldemort finally got to him, as he must. And now Hogwarts, the Ministry and the world is mine…," chortled Voldemort and he watched with pleasure as Ollivander whimpered to these truths.

"Hurry up and take the water for your filthy veins…," Voldemort beckoned apathetically.

Remembering how thirsty he is, Ollivander crawled over to the water jug nearby as fast as he could. He waited for the man to drink, because he wanted to ensure he would not die of dehydration. Ollivander lapped up a few deep gulps, and so weak he was, he drank like a dog from a bowl.

And at that, Voldemort cast some kind of spell on Ollivander that knocked him unconscious and would keep him quiet for the next several hours.

It took almost five minutes, but the three men were waiting patiently, although they were now standing around the Drawing room. Lord Voldemort entered. They hastily returned to their places.

Voldemort put his hands together, folding them, with his elbows on the table. "Let us go on…with our discussion of the Daily Prophet, the infiltration of the media."

Voldemort looked at the photograph of Pius Thickness on the front cover. He mused inquisitively, "What is the Minister's stand against our enemies, then? Do any of you know, if Thickness was a natural advocate of Pure-blood mania, BEFORE he was Imperiused?"

They all nodded affirmatively. "He had already possessed Anti-muggle, Mudblood and Blood-traitor convictions in our favour, My Lord," Yaxley confidently ascertained.

Voldemort replied, "Good…All the better."

"And Travers, make sure you get them to publish an article on Monday illustrating speculation that Harry Potter had a hand in the death of his headmaster. This will work, naturally, as there is a lack of evidence regarding the circumstance of his death, and we of course, will use this confusion to our advantage."

"Yes, My Lord. I'm sure I can get that done," complied Travers, his long hair in his face, glancing at Voldemort.

"Make the world suspect Harry Potter. And this will multiply the chances he will be captured. For people will want to look for him not only for the reward but also for those who supported Dumbledore. And most effectively this sows the greatest seed of doubt…"

He seemed to be talking more to himself now, in a light, casual style. "And I… I am free to extend beyond the borders…"

"Yaxley, Selwyn, Travers, you are dismissed…" he rang clearly throughout the room in that chilling, high voice.

The men rose, and swept out of the room, Voldemort following suit a second later.

Note: The next scene will have some real craziness again...this time sexual!


	35. Young Lust

Note: Something I wanted to tell everyone about this fic: it is very much in line with the Shakespeare saying, "the course of true love never did run smooth

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Draco made his way up the third floor, sulkily. He was depressed over his favorite teacher, Snape punishing him so harshly, and also the fact that Theodore had left him, and so he couldn't find anyone to boss around or joke with anymore. He resisted rubbing his back, through the lime green dressrobes, his bum was now aching and sore from the ordeal.

The stairs twisted as he ascended a huge stairwell. At the landing of the third floor was the first corridor of the floor, in a square leading in four directions like a compass to other corridors. But in the very center, taking up all the space where there would have been 360 degree balcony in the stairwell, was a gigantic circular structure like a gazebo. Above the circular structure, if one looked up, you could see the fourth and highest floor of the manor house. Above, where the fourth floor is, a balcony overlooked the ceiling of the circular structure. The circular structure seemed to be pulsating with heat and glowing like a giant, murky yellow orb. Draco, of course knew just what was inside. As one got closer, you could see steam on the glass doors that went all around it. Because it was covered in steam, it was impossible to see through at all. Draco took one of the correct doors to where he needed to go and went in.

Minutes later, Draco emerged out of the male bathroom and changing room, into the inside center of the circular structure. The sight was simply breathtaking, and it was so hot it was hard to breathe, until one's lungs adjusted to the humidity. There were nearly one hundred of the four hundred guests inside the bathhouse ranging from age two to over one hundred years old. Witches and wizards of all ages completely free of dressrobes. He was stark naked, a greenish-blue oily potion sinking into his epidermis. Draco and all the others had to slather on the oily potion, to prevent heat exhaustion in the sauna environment. The whole place was basically a tropical, magical pleasure lagoon.

Draco's eyes went for the gigantic wobbly-shaped bath in the center, which resembled a pool, actually the equivalent of two Olympics sized pools. He was startled to see his girlfriend, Pure-blood Pansy Parkinson, in the middle of the pool, reposing on a raft. Draco went red, blushing to witness his on-and-off girlfriend at Hogwarts, shamelessly naked, with only a little jewelry, gold anklets. Pansy, was reposing prone on the raft, chin in her hand, and with the other waving her wand, levitating bubbles up from the water. Her face, which sort of looked like a pug to some, yet she was smiling though.

Draco walked carefully along to one of the lounge chairs at the other end of the pool, to just observe and try to pluck up the courage to go in the bath with Pansy there. Nobody noticed him at all, and certainly not the cuts on his behind. He sat, down gingerly his gray eyes only staring mystified at Pansy, debating whether he should try to seduce her. For that is what many in there were doing. It was basically one massive orgy. Draco did not have the confidence, and he was too upset and unhappy. He just watched the back of her. Pansy's back was a little broad for a girl, he inwardly criticized viciously, but she had a nice, rounded and juicy bottom, at least. As he watched her, the potion soaked into his skin, so that the bluish-green colour disappeared, absorbed.

Meanwhile, there was plenty of activity going on both around the large perimeter of the intricate patio of the bath, and inside the bath. Several were smoking colorful plumes of drugs as usual, many others were drinking, by now plenty of them tipsy. Others were eating from elaborate banquet tables set against the walls, loaded with fruits and cheeses. There was also a pyramid of shot glasses filled with neon- colored chilled wines, which one could simply accio themselves a shotglass, being careful to take from the top of the pile, of course. The remnants of empty shot-glasses, scores of them already littered the patio floor. Decorating the floor were garlands and flowers, completely covering it so that it looked like a lawn, and also became a comfortable place to get laid. Some of the women had plucked flowers from the floor and put them in their hair like wreaths, yet the flowers were already wilted from the heat. On the ceiling above the pool was a stain-glass window of Merpeople. Male and female Merpeople were seranading in their native language mermish while some of the Merpeople played harps. They were making the music for the atmosphere, slow and mournful in tune, yet something irrestible beauty about it. The lyrics were in Mermish, but in English they translate to:

From the celestial sky  
A victory of Merlin  
Beloved inevitablity

Wizard of the British Isles  
Lovers and death entwined  
To the remaining pain  
The wholesome celestial sky  
Stolen freedom

Right in front of one end of the width of the pool, smack in the center was the most conspicuous activity, and the most promiscuous. A massive orgy of adults on top of each other. Literally about a dozen and others following the lead having sex right next to them. One woman was sandwiched between two obese men being tabled. Crabbe Sr., a Death Eater moved at the pace of a snail, thrusting his cock through her vagina. While Goyle Sr. was at the other end on top of the woman, trying to suck the intertwined sexual organs at once. Meanwhile, linked to Goyle, was another man, trying unsuccessfully to insert his cock into Goyle's anus, whilst two women at once came onto him. He was thwarted by one of the women kissing him, as he started fucking Goyle, and the other woman massaging his chest and shoulders.

Meanwhile two other Death Eaters were also participating in this massive orgy, they had been allowing several witches to take turns sucking on their dicks. They were lying right in front of the other spectacle on the floor. The winning woman got her back rubbed with ice, as if to cool her from the heat. They were growing bored of it though, and suddenly Rabastan Lestrange decided to levitate one of the losing women. Rodolphus, jumped up, his thickset frame had a pot belly, and he took up the idea with a playful air. This was something sexual Death Eaters love to do, but it was exclusive to muggle women. But Rabastan and Rodophus made an exception, waving their wands, and two more women were hanging upside down, revolving.

Rabastan said, "Let's tie them together, so that they can start fucking each other."

"Good call," said Rodolphus (Bellatrix's husband).

Bound by invisible ropes at the legs, they moved closer, and the women did what the two wanted them to, willlingly. Laughing and giggling, going along with the others, they banged their vulvas against each other. Admist the hundred people, there were others versions of levitated people in the bathhouse.

At another point in a different location on the patio, some people were playing with a magical sex toy that was very similar to Gobstones, except it squirted out masturbation on the loser.

Then, there was the younger Avery watching his middle-aged girlfriend, Claudia, swimming in the deep end of the pool. She swam, slowly through the hot water and then floated. The water came out of gargoyle mouth taps, and it was of several colors and purfumed, with bubbles skidding the whole surface. In fact, the entire pool, was filled with blues, purples, and green, and yellows, so that it looked like paint swirled together from a pallet. The pool was similar to the Prefect Bathroom on the third floor at Hogwarts because it also contained taps with different perfumed waters.

"Come here, Claudia…," called Avery, and there was a kind of affection in his voice.

Claudia swam over to him. Avery was putting some type of cream on his dick. It was foamy and white.

"Suckle up my honey suckle honey," he said.

And Claudia, jewels sparkling in her hair, stood on tiptoe in the water, and lifted her head as if she was snogging him over the embankment. But rather, it was his penis, hanging where he sat on the edge of the pool.

She put her lips on it, and then began to passionately give him a blow-job as if it was the most wonderful thing. Her tongue ravishing it over her mouth and then after several moments, she thoughtlessly, grabbed Avery's waist and pulled him into the water. His legs wrapped around her waist, and she began to take him herself, in control. She moaned, "That cream on your penis was delicious…What was it?"

"Whipped cream, love" he said.

Notably close to where Avery was sitting, had been Wormtail alone but gleeful. His toes skimming the surface of the water making little waves as he kicked.

And then further, down the pool was a group of teenage girls, sitting on the steps at the shallow end. They were talking and laughing, whilst a couple of house-elves were fanning them to say cool. Several house-elves were actually all around, trying to keep the place in order. There were several fanning the guests, and some were trying to clean up the little martini like shot glasses littering the floor. But there were other messes, like the bloke who vomited in a corner, completely wasted on alcohol. It was impossible to keep clean, as the guests littered constantly.

In front of the shallow end of the bath, several gluttonous men and women were eating absentmindedly from a pile of food they had collected. In a daze they watched, sitting on lounge chairs, observing what Antonin Dolohov and the elderly man, Nott were doing in the water.

Quite awhile ago, they had transfigured tentacles onto three little boy's limbs. As if little sea urchins, the little boys swam around the two old men, passing under the spread legs, repeatedly until they were "caught." For it was really just a game, in which the two Death Eaters were making up the rules as they went along.

"Come on, get under the bridge," coaxed Dolohov to the six-year-old. And then, he caught him, and then the two-year-old followed his friend. These were the same children that had been in the nursery, until Draco had played that trick. Perhaps, if he had not done so, they still would be safe in the nursery.

Once Dolohov had caught the two-year-old, he tossed him over his shoulder. Like a sack the child hung over his back, upside down. Meanwhile, he pushed the other boy's head underwater, and started sexually assaulting him. The child struggled instinctively, fearing he would drown, but he could not get free.

And Nott, manipulated a timid thirteen-year-old boy, forcing him to perform sexual favours for him, yet the boy was trying to get away, knowing this was not a game.

In another location a group of youths in their twenties were playing Exploding Snap. Yet, this time when you lost points in the game, the others would throw the Exploding Snap onto the skin, until it made small singe marks, like miniscule cigarette burns being pelted on them.

Then there was some people, popping grapes into each other mouths, next to others lounging on their stomach, on some conjured cushions on the floor, eating off a silver platter of the banquet food.

But in the middle of all this, there was one young man completely ostracized and alone. Marcus Flint, a former Slytherin player on Draco's school Quidditch team had been ganged up on earlier. Some had accused him of smelling like a troll, which was probably true because he had troll blood in him. Now he was grinding his teeth, watching the sight from the sidelines, as he made himself fill with pre-cum. The scent of troll, had probably been detected because the heat would make smells more pungent, and the potion oil had also given him a green tinge to his skin.

Draco had finally stopped fixating on Pansy. He was no longer filtering out the rest of the scene. His face was pale, as he watched frightened by how far his people would go…

"This is just weird…," Draco said to himself. He was truly bewildered by the sight of the ludicrous behaviour. His thoughts drifted to Potter and his pals, the good side. He wondered if they would ever do this. And he continued to think most secretly how there was a desire, a wish that he could be on the "good side".

By now, he was much too frightened to pursue Pansy, and she was climbing out of the pool now anyway, leaving to go back to the other places to party. His eyes averted from her, and then he saw his two best friends.

Gregory Goyle was lying on the ground some yards away, an apple in his mouth, like he wanted to gag himself. And then Vincent Crabbe was kneeling in front of a man, rimming him. Whilst Crabbe did so, he ate off the man's anus, chewing shards of crytallized pineapple, contentedly. Crabbe dived in for more, burying his head like a hog. They both greatly resembled hogs, in fact.

Draco exhaled and then murmured, "Sick…" And he continued to ponder the people, he identified with. Slytherin, Death Eaters, Pure-blood. Is this how they should act? Draco was much too afraid and insecure to be doing this, unless maybe someone came over to him and encouraged him. But for now he couldn't.

Then, there was somebody else watching near the entrance into the bathhouse. Lord Voldemort, magically invisible through one of the doors, outside. He had cleared the steam obstructing the view of the bathhouse center from the outside in the corridor. There was an extreme look of shock on his snake-like face, that quickly morphed into boiling anger. It was a blunder of him, really. He regretfully thought how he was foolish, really not to realize this would happen. Of course, if he allowed Bellatrix's wish to come true, to have a celebration of the coup, they would do this!

About a third of the Death Eaters were participating in it, and Voldemort staked out appalled to watch them all have sex like this. To his point of view they were being a bunch of beast-like worthless hedonists!

And then he saw Bellatrix enter, and minutes later she had several men were surrounding her, with a hopeful air about them, clearly having respect for the powerful witch. Then she was raping a wizard, herself on top, whilst she crucioed laughing, and then started playfully spanking him. Voldemort thought, perhaps to work off the punishment he had given her before, for that ridiculous shrine?!

Voldemort watched a moment longer, and then turned his back. He could not stand to watch, or he might just burst with rage, and kill them all right there. No. He had a more efficient idea in which to use someone else…


	36. Young Lust 2

Note: Sorry, I have had a very busy week. It's been almost two weeks actually. I will try to write a lot this weekend…I will never give up completely on this story, that is all I can promise. I am roughly 70 through the plot. 

Continuation of:

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Voldemort was still stewing inwardly over the appalling sight he had just witnessed. He was extremely hot, probably from getting so close to that arid environment of the bathhouse. He was heading for a balcony for privacy and to cool off outside, when he heard several voices. He saw from the backs that some were in black ceremonial robes, obviously Death Eaters. Instinct told him to follow them.

Voldemort strode off near them from the distance, their backs to him, yet he was still invisible anyway. He could tell from the other's accents that they were wizards invited to the party who were from the far north, where his deceased, Death Eater Karkaroff lived. The others were obviously their English friends, who are Death Eaters.

"Vell, they say he is still in Nurmengard prison to this very day. It used to once be where he put his own political prisoners. Kind of ironic, don't you think?"

Voldemort knew at once whom they were discussing. That was the Dark Wizard Dumbledore defeated in 1945, Gellert Grindelwald. Voldemort, like everybody else who mattered in the Wizarding World knew Grindelwald was still alive, held up in Germany to die in what was once his own death camp.

"Do you know Grindelwald attended Durmstrang school?" said another wizard to his English friend, in a friendly voice.

"No, I wasn't aware…," answered Jugson, who clearly had an English accent.

"Yes, Grindelwald was in the same class as I was. He was expelled before graduating, in his final year for doing dangerous Dark Arts. And his symbol is forever stuck on the main wall. He did that!…It has proven impossible to remove."

Someone else chimed in, "When Grindelwald was in power he did things with a wand nobody had ever heard of…Some say he actually did possess the Wand of Destiny, but nobody knows for sure."

"Well, who made his original wand for him when he attended Durmstrang?," asked the Englishman, who was Mulciber, thinking this might point him in the direction.

"Gregorovitch. He makes all our wands. Anyway, what happened to your Wandmaker, Ollivander?"

"I don't know…nobody knows. He left his shop last year without even a struggle…"

Voldemort found it mildly interesting and intriguing that they knew whom Gregorovitch is, the very wizard he was looking for. If only they could tell him exactly where Gregorovitch was living in the north! He was sure he could find out, easily, but it would make the task so much simpler, if he knew precisely which village before his quest. He did not bother to ask them though, for he must not let anyone know he was after the Elder Wand. He must always operate alone.

He turned back up the corridor, lifting the Invisibility spell he had placed on himself, thus appearing. He went out onto one of the many terraces on Malfoy Manor, this one was small with room for only a couple or just two individuals could stand on it.

He halted in surprise, when he saw the back of the black oily-hair of Severus Snape already there. Apparently skulking around by himself instead of joining in the party.

"My Lord…," murmured Snape, mindful to remain respectful, as he turned to see who it was, his hooked nose visible from a sideline profile of his tall and thin frame.

Voldemort did not answer, but sighed heavily, the summery night air was not much cooler. Snape did not look at Voldemort, but stared down below, towards the Mafoy's driveway, impossible to see in the dark. Just beyond it strangely hovering shapes were just visible around the gates, obviously Dementors guarding the perimeter. Snape stared at them, gloomily.

Voldemort's mood was equally dour in it's own right, his mind nettled with selfish thoughts, and the impatient desire to possess the Elder Wand.

Then his thoughts shifted and Voldemort brought up, "I want you to know something extremely important, Severus. Now would be a good time to bring it up, given that we are alone."

"What is it, My Lord?" said Snape.

"Once you get inside the headmaster's office, you will find a glass case with the Sword of Gryffindor. It is not the real copy, rather a fake forged by the Goblin, Ragnuk the First. The real copy of the sword is being kept for me in Gringott's in the Lestrange's vault. Whatever happens, you must protect the fake sword, so that people think it is being kept at Hogwarts, and so nobody will suspect it is at Gringott's."

"Yes, My Lord," said Snape, as firmly as he could, looking at Voldemort.

Voldemort looked back, his red eyes flashing with a scorching ferocity. Trying to maintain his trust with Snape, he needed to utilize his Legilimency to maximum measures, as he always did with Snape, if ever to catch him lying. But Snape's mind remained blank and calm, his black eyes gleaming back, pale against the darkness, his face like a death mask.

Voldemort, of course was wrong. Snape had been entrusted the Sword of Gryffindor in Dumbledore's will and was keeping the real copy safe. Snape would later utilize the knowledge Voldemort had just given him here, thus moving the fake sword to Gringott's after students attempted to steal it, and he would do so without telling Voldemort it was the fake copy, and possibly in the process lie to his master.

After a moment, Snape murmured, "Mars is bright tonight…" as he peered up at the inky blankness of the black sky stretching above them (the Dark Mark had finally disappeared).

"What?" said Voldemort sharply. And now he was looking at Snape, the idea that he was a lunatic not far off from occuring to his mind.

Snape averted his eyes from above, where he had been staring at the redness of Mars gleaming, which seemed to still be reflected in his black pupils, as if burned into the retinas.

"Excuse me, My Lord. I was referring to what a centaur told me. Firenze taught Divinaton at Hogwarts and once told me about the brightness of Mars and for what it indicates to the centaurs. When Mars is bright, it means a great war is coming, within a conflict of all that has gone before, what has yet to be, and that which…inwardly gets in the way."

"I do not hold Divination to high esteem. Divination is a discipline revolving around luck and chance, two things I detest as they have always thwarted my genius. I certainly shall not permit an ostracized centaur's knowledge," discounted Voldemort immediately. "...It is rather unfortunate that we could not recruit the centaurs…But we have the giants, werewolves and several legions of dementors." 

And Voldemort sighed again exasperated, his thoughts going back to the Elder Wand, feeling intense aggravation. Yet he couldn't help but glance up at the red blob of Mars gleaming, and think how maybe this was all written as part of his destiny, albeit a great one. Maybe it was etched out in the heavens, he secretly conjectured. 

He inhaled through his slit nostrils and closed his eyes, blissfully, letting go of his nettled thoughts of before. He then popped his eyes open again, and threw his head back, looking up at the starry sky, with Mars conspicuous.  
"This "Festival of the Pure-Bloods" is turning out to be less pleasing to me than I thought it would be, Severus. I know that like myself, you are not enjoying it either," confided Voldemort to Snape.

Snape seemed to shudder at these words, filled with a sudden surge of fear that Voldemort knew precisely why he was unhappy. His knuckles whitened over the ledge of the white stone balcony, he was grasping. 

"I am sorely tempted to punish my Death Eaters for their ridiculous hedonistic endeavors. For it disgusts me that my elite army behaves with such lewdness and debauchery, and furthermore in MY presence and at MY headquarters."

"I cannot be seen punishing them for their disrespect. But you Severus...You can go and disrupt the wildness going on in the bathhouse. Get them all out of there. Every last one of them and tell them Lord Voldemort is most displeased and unsatisfied."

Snape nodded dutifully, and strode out of the terrace, woodenly. He was ready to do this, he just hoped he could accomplish it. Yet he felt somewhat bitter, what with between that morally degenerate monster and Dumbledore, it was always, he. Always he was the man picked for the most taxing missions.


	37. Young Lust 3

Continuation of….

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Snape soon found the second floor corridor, with the gigantic gazebo glowing like a yellow orb in place of where there should have been a three-hundred-and-sixty degree balcony. He took a deep breath and then stopped suddenly. How on earth was he going to tell about one hundred people, not to mention many of them drunks to stop enjoying themselves?

"Sonorous…," Snape whispered, pointing his wand at his throat. He then went for the main entrance directly into the hub of the action.

The sight was still appallingly surreal. Not as many bodies in there as before, now only fifty or sixty witches and wizards, but still an unbelievably egregious sight. 

Nobody really noticed him enter, despite sticking out in black Death Eater robes, whilst they were all naked. He knew he would need to cause a major disturbance to get them moving.

He pointed his wand over his head and did some advanced spell to silence the merpeople images in the stain-glass on the ceiling from singing their soft lullaby-like song in mermish. The music ended in mid-sentence, the mood killed. The merpeople's lips hanging open parted, frozenly immobile in the stain-glass. Neither were there the harps playing inside the stain-glass, which had served as the beat to sync with in time to intercourse.

Still having group sex, Crabbe Senior and Goyle Senior rose from the other end of the pool looking around stupidly, shielding their eyes in the bright light. 

Other people started to look as well. Snape did not hesitate, he aimed his wand, as ominously as he could, and shot a spell at the giant pyramid of shotglasses. The hundreds of them came tumbling onto the garland embedded floor, the chilled neon colored wines spilling out, dying the nearby flowers strewn, weaved into the garland. 

Snape's face was bright red, as he roared convulsively, "The Dark Lord is furious with this whole damn debacle! Leave now before he arrives or all of you perishes!"

They actually believed Voldemort was coming and the crowd as one stampeded out going for the changing rooms. Some taking desperate, flailing strokes to swim out of the placid perfumed lagoon as if they would drown. 

Snape wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead, and then looked down at the house-elves and said coldly, "Clean this up…Listen to your superiors, your masters. Clean it up now!"

The several house-elves jumped frightened, and even though Snape was not a Malfoy, they listened to his order. Scurrying to pick up the hundreds of glass from the fallen pyramid of alcohol, pricking their fingers, blood oozing out the backs of their tiny brown hands.

Snape stalked outside, before he could get heat exhaustion. He was surprised to see Lucius and Narcissa.

"I can't go in there, and tell them to stop it, Narcissa. I don't know whether our Lord approves or not…," argued Lucius, grinding through his teeth.

"Too late, I ended it," cut in Snape, before Narcissa could respond, her face directed at her husband with disdain and disagreement.

"And no, the Dark Lord did not approve of this-this orgy. Not in the slightest, Lucius. In fact, I think he might regret bothering with this whole party at all."

Lucius frowned deeply at Snape. Snape walked by, carelessly, and went to hang out somewhere else, as he watched dozens of people leave the other doors, disheveled appearances from dressing so quickly back into their attire. They had the most guilty expressions on their faces, looking around frightened to find Voldemort.

Note: the last drawing room scene is coming next. More insight into Voldemort's regime. Hope you don't mind, then we'll be getting some new interesting action.


	38. Young Lust 4

**Continuation of….**

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust 

A gaggle of teenagers were turning to go towards the ballroom heading through the cathedral hall when they saw Voldemort approaching them from behind.

Daphne Greengrasss, nervously turned to face him, fixing her hair, remembering she had not dried it since her interlude in the bathhouse. She now considered it incriminating evidence that You-Know-Who would crucio her for.

Daphne whipped her wand out and started, drying her hair with her wand, flipping the layers over as if it was a muggle blow-dryer.

The other teenagers stared at Voldemort, knees shaking, scared that if he looked at them, Voldemort would practically scald them with his glance.

But Voldemort took no more notice of them than if they had been flies on the wall. He sauntered down the main staircase.

Minutes later, he was breezing through the Drawing Room doors again, in which he raised his wand, giving it a tiny tap, casting the muffliato spell, and then slamming the doors shut.

Three men were already sitting around the dim Drawing Room. The chandelier was no longer lit as only the red and orange flames of the fire provided illumination. Like a dim shadow playing on the light, Voldemort crossed the room to sit at the head of the long table.

The three men could not be situated in more acrimonious stances: Walden Macnair frowning and his head turned deliberately away from looking at Augustus Rookwood right across from him. Rookwood looking up at the ceiling, giving all the indication he was bored, and Scabior, arms crossed over his chest, giving all his attention to Voldemort with mouth wobbling.

Voldemort paused and then said, "I must confess…the economy of the Wizarding world, with the focus of Great Britain is of little interest to me. And yet I bring you three very different men together tonight in discussion of it."

Rookwood had averted his eyes from the ceiling to stare blearily at Voldemort, as Scabior and Macnair nodded gravely. Voldemort seemed to be aware that the three, despite being Death Eaters did not feel much connection to each other.

"Now, beginning with you Scabior …The mercenaries you control for me shall continue to round up the muggle-borns or in other words, the mudbloods. Likewise, some shall be promoted, if demonstrating adequate skill to be initiated as Death Eaters."

"Yes – My Lord," Scabior said with resolve, though sounding scared to speak with Voldemort so personally. Scabior was clad in magnificent yellow robes, marking him his special status as chief Snatcher.

"My Lord?…What about Fenrir Greyback. He is possibly my best Snatcher."

Voldemort laughed dark and cynically in a low sneer. Macnair and Rookwood were now glaring at Scabior scornfully.

"I shall never award Greyback, the Mark. Though, undoubtedly he thinks I might. He is mistaken. Werewolves do not belong in my true family, my inner circle of devoted sorcerers."

Rookwood and Macnair, raised their goblets to a toast, Rookwood actually muttering, "Here, here." But no toast was given, for Macnair hesitated to clink his goblet with Rookwood's. Scabior just looked down at the marble surface of the table, ashamed, his cheeks flaming.

"Now Scabior, what the Snatchers must do is increase over the coming months. I shall need about a dozen to guard every Wizarding village, including Hogsmeade. The ministry must also have a role in classifying the difference between our people and the scum, keeping mudbloods out of wizarding dwellings, as the Snatchers will enforce. Now, this is where you come in Macnair, and you as well, Rookwood as I mention the Ministry."

They both looked expectantly at Voldemort.

"You as of last year broke out of Azkaban, thanks to my involvement…We will continue to release prisoners now that the place is essentially mine. All prisoners willing to become Snatchers and serve Lord Voldemort will be released quietly on Monday…."

Macnair's mustache curled gratefully and a thin, wry smile pursed under it.

"Before you were important in the ministry's Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. Now your role expands, as I promised you during my rebirthing in the graveyard three years ago. Did I not say that you would have more and better victims, Macnair? That day has come, my friend. Very soon, you shall have all the mudblood and other filth you would like to play with."

Macnair's smile stretched to a much wider proportion.

"And so I make a strong move towards the traditional right. My reign, my ascendancy to power brings the rebirth of the 'Pure-blood' once again. To do so, we must root out the decadence in our society. This celebration, here tonight is the last of it for awhile," he spoke irritably of the celebration.

"Hogwarts is also another expedient method of weeding out muggleborns…I have made you one of the seven school governors, as I mentioned in the rallying speech."

And Voldemort inclined his head rigidly, the slit red eyes on the pockmarked face and greasy-hair of Augustus Rookwood, who answered aloofly, "Yes…."

"But I have called this meeting, as our primary purpose to discuss the Wizarding economy. Even without our efforts, Diagon Alley has been developing into a revitalized commercial property. Since last year, it has grown to be much more like Knockturn Alley. And as I'm sure, the places that were a trifle waste of time have been destroyed as well…." And then Voldemort asked demandingly with a threat underneath the tone, "Well, Scabior? Did the Snatcher's destroy the actual market activities of Diagon Alley last night?"

Scabior cleared his throat nervously, biding for time as Voldemort watched his face. He said lamely, "Weasley Wizard Wheezes or, I mean a joke Shop…Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occassions, Eeylot's Owl Emporioum, An Ice-cream parlour, Flourish and Blotts. Er- Basically everywhere, My Lord."

"Good. This is exactly as it will go for Hogsmeade as well. Dementors will be stationed in every village constantly. We shall also instill a curfew for wizards and witches. This will be done through a Catermole Charm, which thus goes off like an alarm if any disobey….And of course, destroying all those businesses has led us exactly where I want us to go. A strong Underground, black-market economy in which the Dark Arts thrives. For essentials, like robes and books, and other things, we shall seize all the goods, and supply them. There will be rations, given off at I dare say, exorbitant prices. We have to make a profit do we not?"

And Voldemort's face twisted into a shrewd smile, which was shared by greedy looks between the three wizards.

Scabior suddenly looked a little bit crestfallen. He asked, "Excuse me, My Lord…But won't there be widespread poverty?"

"Yes. For only those of superior skill shall survive. The weak on the fringes of society, as it should be become vagrants living on the street. And also, my laws call for giving employment in both business and the ministry exclusively, only to those who prove satisfactory blood status."

And then Macnair asked the obvious question, "What will happen to my money?"

"The prices controls I have already mentioned, will also include wage controls of all employees both public and private. Only those in service to me, excuse me, the Ministry of Magic, I mean are recognized as owning private property. All property of course has been seized under my control. Your mention of money brings us to the discussion of the currency, and our control of Gringott's Bank."

"We begin with the Goblin Liason Office in the ministry…and on a sidenote I must add that Quidditch and Gobstones are now illegal and must have their presence taken out of the Department of Muggle, no longer called Magical Games and Sports."

Voldemort paused and took an unusually large gulp of his wine.

Rookwood raised his brows, with surprise. Macnair and Scabior looked bewildered at these jumps in topic.

Voldemort's saw Macnair's and Scabior's rather stupid expressions, and took an impatient intake of breath, 'Think…Goblins work at Gringott's, do they not? I could swear I was talking to a bunch of brainless gnomes sometimes!" His dour mood from before regarding the Elder Wand and the orgy going on had apparently not been elevated, for unfortunately the alcohol was doing little for it.

And Voldemort continued to glare, and Scabior shook, quaking in his chair.

"Macnair! As you are employed in the ministry…although in an equally insignificant post in the dangerous creatures committee it will be your task to speak to those over in the Goblin Liason Offices.

"Yes, My Lord. I shall contact them Monday, through an interdepartmental memo…," said Macnair, confusedly. "But what for?"

Voldemort took another irritable breath.

"Because we are getting the Goblins to works like house-elves for us inside the banks. Wizards will be given all their prior duties, which is exactly as it should have been all along. We will get them to do the cleaning and other menial work, instead."

This would not actually work in execution. The goblins would ultimately refuse to do things that so insulted their race and purpose as a being.

"To further incense the public and to get wizards to happily agree…I would favor caricatures to be drawn, depicting the Goblins as the monstrous beasts, they always were. We shall make sure they are never granted the use of wands."

"While it is true in our history, Goblins were never granted that privilege," added in Rookwood thoughtfully, and his forehead wrinkles were lined, he was looking pensive, "Won't this start another violent Goblin uprising, My Lord?" Rookwood was referring to the knowledge of Wizarding history.

"No, and the Goblins however beastly are not un-intelligent. They know it would be foolish to organize themselves, what with Lord Voldemort's armed forces in the country. They will not rebel. We shall make them subservient, and if they refuse then I shall have them all killed at once. But they can be very useful, in enslaving like we've done with the house-elves, and that is our eventual goal."

"I suppose so…," assented Rookwood reluctantly, yet he looked doubtful.

"You shall be happy to here, that Gringott's will supply extra gold for all my Death Eaters, who serve me. The Bank will also fund anything necessary for the other armies. In addition, we shall start this process through clearing out any of the vaults of witches and wizards who are unemployed or any who is of course a mudblood. All of their fortunes will be confiscated and used for our benefit."

Scabior rubbed his hands together greedily, at these words finally relaxing under Voldemort's presence.

"My Lord, as Chief Snatcher, might I make a suggestion on security at Gringotts?"

Voldemort did not respond, but shook his head, nodding almost imperceptibly.

Scabior took it to go on, which he did rather confidently, " Probity Probes could be a new way to identify potential thieves trying to enter the Bank. My Lord, I also think we should make all wizards show identification upon entering."

"I agree…" said Voldemort, almost fairly.

"But how will the wealth of our society as a whole be accumulated, My Lord?" asked Rookwood curiously.

"I'm glad you asked me that Rookwood. In order to build up this country, to build up our people, effectively, so that we may one day conquer the rest of the world, we must build up its wealth. Gringott's bank will start massive investments with the muggles, much bigger than our share in the exchange rate that has already developed. We will never pay back the clueless muggles and thus so, we shall drain the British muggles of all their wealth, until they will be forced to either be enslaved by us or die. We will also enlarge the deals going on at St. Mungo's Hospital, the bank shall now have a direct role in bribing that institution."

"In doing so, the individual's wealth should count for nothing. For it is the interests, the interests of mine that are the only meaningful matter of economics now. Meaning, economically, the small business is of little interest to me. They will pique the practice of the Dark Arts, but their economic concerns mean little to me…"

"I guess this means, people will be unsuccessful with attaining loans from Gringotts?," said Rookwood, not the least bit enthused.

"Correct, Rookwood. They cannot be allowed interest charging anymore, as a good businessman should trust none, if we and they are to remain debt free, which is what shall be done…"

"The path I layed out for you three is very simple: I am delegating you the task of telling all the others. Let us hope you are effective at it."

Note: Economics is a subject that is not my forte, so I found this scene very difficult to do correctly. The next scene is some more, very new fun craziness (it is not sexual though).


	39. Young Lust 5

I must announce that I sent in selections of this story to Terminus, the Harry Potter academic conference to be held in Chicago in August. My story "The Midsummer Coup" was one of the ones picked to be presented. Out of all the thousands of story excerpts submitted, mine was one of the dozen or so chosen! The excerpt I chose that will be read are the the first two updates in chapter One and also the chapter, "Waiting for the Worms", in which Voldemort has his coup, and then the scene between Voldemort and Snape on the terrace in 'Young Lust'. I was of course, thrilled. If anyone is attending the conference, please let me know. I cannot attend because I have "real-life" work responsibilites. So I need somebody to proxy read it in my stead. For anyone interested in contemplating going to celebrate the fandom...here is a link to the informative site: of….

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Minutes later, Voldemort flanked by his henchmen entered one of the two billiard rooms, adjacent to each other. There was close to one hundred people inside a long rectangular room lit by a line of golden shaded magical lamps. The violent, erotic music of Ancient Pure-blood lore was playing from spade-shaped wind chimes. There were plumes of a variety of coloured smoke still venting the atmosphere, and ample quantities of sealed containers of alcoholic beverages floating, and Lucius was again auctioning off his material treasures. Despite all the action, two men were at a corner table, concentrating intently on a game. It was Augustus Rookwood and Theodore Nott, playing of all things, Wizard Chess.

The obsolete weapons cases with a Malfoy Coat of Arms shield above the encased swords remained untouched by Lucius. In front of the glass case were several tall vases on the stone floor, filled with daggers. Next to the vases, were piles of worn snakeskin.

Greyback had actually stolen a sheet of snakeskin. With his palm he rubbed it in his lap, whispering, "Ah…I love the softness of the skin." He seemed to be lost in some kind of fantasy and nobody was paying attention to him. The werewolf took another swig from his large tankard. He repeated, "the softness of the skin" over and over to himself. He might have been masturbating under the ceremonial Death Eater robes. 

Voldemort flitted away from Walden Macnair and Scabior, as they freely went over to Yaxley enjoying a card game with the Avery men.

Something in the crowd caught Voldemort's eye. Two men playing a game throwing daggers against the wall. His eyes fixated on the wall display, he walked forward, the black tapestry-like cape with the crescent moons trailing behind him. The crowd parted robitically at the sight of Voldemort striding, heads turning in wonder. Many of them had not seen him for the entire duration of the party, except from a distance.

It was Evan Sr. (the father of the other Death Eater, Rosier who is deceased) playing with Jugson, both standing with backs turned. They did not notice Voldemort approaching. Covering the wall was a behemoth carving of a dragon, thirty feet in length from head to tail. It was a Hebridean Black, an exclusively British dragon from the Hebrides Islands, known to be very aggressive. For it will eat humans, yet most of the time only gets to consume deer. The majestic purple dragon had arrow-shaped spikes on the tail, which were three-dimensionally represented as spikes on the wall.

Voldemort watched them play for a moment, standing right behind them. One of them finally turned around, they had gotten a hair-raising feeling they were being watched.

He looked his Death Eater, Jugson coldly in the eyes and said chillingly, "Standing with your backs to Lord Voldemort?…. But by all means continue," and Voldemort gestured grandly. "Turn your back on your Master again…"

He had said it sarcastically. Jugson and Rosier's colour drained from their face with fear. They could not tell if Voldemort was offended or not. "We are almost there, My Lord. Can we finish the game first?," said Evan Rosier.

Truth be told he wasn't quite so offended. Yet still he pressed mysteriously, "I was not interested in speaking with either of you. What does interests me in an inane moment, such as this, is a match against both of you. Competition….You - Rosier, and you - Jugson in a game of Dagger Cricket against Lord Voldemort?"

Jugson and Rosier's eyes bulged at the same time. Jugson answered dryly, "Of course, my Lord. We'll just restart it." To play this game with Lord Voldemort was like a symbol of how brave they were and how courageous to be close to Voldemort, the most deadly enemy in the room, and to dare play a game of deadly marksmanship.

Jugson immediately accioed back the daggers that had already been thrown. He picked the few of them up and placed them back in scabbards and into the ceramic vases.

It took a minute, mainly because Jugson was being so careful with the daggers as if they would break in two. But Voldemort waited patiently. Jugson was running through his head furiously why this was happening and how he should behave. It was not that Voldemort really wanted to waste his mind playing a game, but what else was there to do at this point in the party he now regretted ever permitting?

"Ready for your first draw, My Lord," said Rosier after waiting expectantly in which Voldemort did nothing.

"Oh, no. I should like you to go before me." And Voldemort actually was civil and polite.

They were shocked. "But, My Lord. Surely you want to-"

"Win. Of course. But only a fair match will do. Now, draw Rosier! And then you, Jugson. Your scores are combined against mine."

Rosier took from the smallest group of daggers in one of the vases. Slowly, he unsheathed the dagger from its scabbard. Dropping the scabbard, he poised the weapon in his hand. Rosier lingered. He was sweating profusely, dots glistening on his brow. He did not know how he should play against...No it couldn't be. He was competing against the Dark Lord! It was only a game, he thought bracingly.

"I grow weary of waiting," commented Voldemort.

Rosier threw the dagger at these words. He threw it blindly. He threw it way off course, from nerves. So off course, it didn't even hit the wall, but a countertop some forty feet away. It actually came close to stabbing Narcissa's leg, where she was reposing on a stool next to the counter. She screamed and despite seeing no imminent danger she moved to sit somewhere else.

"Ah, Rosier. Surely my Death Eater can do better than that?," sneered Voldemort. Now he really was getting a little irked. He thought he knew exactly why he had done so poorly.

Rosier whispered, "I'll do better next time, my Lord." And now Rosier felt worried that he was going to be punished.

Jugson already had taken his wand out and accioed back the dagger that had made a dent in the ebony countertop. The rule was in Daggers that if the precise target is not hit you must return it back into the vase in it's scabbard.

Jugson at least seemed less apprehensive than his team cohort. He did not hesitate, but threw the small dagger, with intent. Yet it did not land inside one of the several grooves dispersed in difficult to reach points on the dragon carving. It did not even come close to one of them. Instead it landed between the dark, rough scales at the ridges along the back, where the silver metal is chipped, as if to make the dragon have scales.

Voldemort turned furiously on the spot and glared dangerously at his follower, red eyes flashing into him, nostrils flaring.

He hissed, "You caused that blunder on purpose Jugson!,"

Jugson did not know what to say. Nothing seemed adequate. Really, because Voldemort was right. He had purposefully made sure he did terrible, despite the fact he was an expert at this game.

Voldemort chose not to scold any further, thinking his message was clear. He violently wrenched out one of the small-sized recently polished iron daggers from its vase. Meanwhile, Jugson accioed back the dagger before he could offer it to the Dark Lord.

The rule was that ideally you must stab the dragon's wings first to get the most points. Voldemort held it in his left hand with the double-edged triangular blade pointing from the heel of his hand, in which there was a dragon head on the handle of the dagger, jutting out behind Voldemort's wrist.

Voldemort's eye's glittered, and then there was a downward jab motion of his left hand, as he was equally adept at both, being ambidextrous. The dagger impacted a groove in the dragon's tail right under a spike. The grooves located on the tail are all placed there, to make it hard to score. Of course, Voldemort has a keen eye and naturally exceled. 

At Voldemort's draw some other men and women gathered around to watch the game. They automatically clapped at Voldemort's success, a respectful short applause ringing in the billiard room. 

A man several feet behind whispered in someone's ear, "Bet against the Dark Lord winning?"

"Are you mad?! Certainly, no! There could be special magic jinxes if one bets against him," answered the other man, looking frightened at merely the thought of it.

"However…," the man considered carefully. "I'll bet on the terms. I bet fifty-six galleons that the Dark Lord wins by more than half the score," he consented after a moment.

"That is inevitable," scoffed the other man. "I refuse to accept."

"Fine! We won't bet then. I cannot dare bet against him. It's bad luck."

During this time, the game had progressed with Jugson and Rosier losing out to the first part of the game, only racking up a small portion of the points for the tail of the dragon.

They moved onto the eyes of the dragon, a difficult target towards the end of the game, in which there is only one target.

Evan Rosier, who was still extremely nervous failed miserably, throwing it way off course from nerves. "Accio!" he said defeatedly. The dagger came sailing back into his hand and then Jugson took the initiative. Hand shaking, he hesitated. Should he allow himself this little part of the points? Could he be sure Voldemort would win, if he allowed himself to hit the target like he knew he could? He knew Voldemort would be annoyed if he saw that his Death Eater did not perform honestly, once again and so he had to pretend to do his best.

He took a deep breath, and threw the dagger stabbing it between the two slit purple eyes of the Hebridean Dragon, which was like a serpent that had spread leathery-looking wings. For once, despite the dozens of constant jibes and admonishments he had endured throughout the dagger game, Voldemort did not complain.

And now they was onto the last phase, in which the team that had recently scored gets to go for the final draw.

Jugson unsheathed one of the biggest daggers from the collection, the size of a sword. This was worth the most points, as by now all the other grooves on the dragon picture were filled, mostly with Voldemort's points.

Jugson now had to go for him and his teammate, Rosier to get to stab it in the heart. He gulped looking at Voldemort. Jugson was caught in a quandary. 

Voldemort watched as Jugson threw it and missed the grooved circular peg-hole by mere inches. Jugson breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had done it just right. He purposefully made it seem like it was an honest attempt and still lost to the most important piece of the game, the one dagger that goes in the heart of the dragon, in which one team gets only one attempt.

Voldemort, once again let out his irritation towards the two, he had spent the whole game directing constant complaints at them for not playing up to their potential.

"Once again you sabotage yourself. That was not acceptable, Jugson."

In a flourish, Voldemort whipped out an unseen silver whirl from under his attire's left forearm emerald and silver studded link. It was a concealed dagger hidden under the dressrobes. He had noticed the dagger earlier, while dressing for the evening. This dagger had come with the ancient Malfoy robes, as it had been common in early Wizarding times to carry one.

He threw it in his hand and in an instant, the tiny dagger had hit the center of the dragon's heart with a thrust. The tiny silver dagger lay pierced into the heart, gleaming with it's handle encrusted with emeralds.

There was an eruption of applause mixed with a few confused remarks about the outcome.

"Right," said Rosier loudly to counteract the arguments that Voldemort had not won fairly. For he had not used the correct dagger. "There is an exception to that rule. The element of surprise is always a formidable one, so said our ancestors. It is Pure-blood tradition that a hidden weapon may be used to help slay the dragon of Dagger Cricket. This has been allowed all throughout the ages!"

That was true. Voldemort had won the game.

Jugson answered, "And winning denotes a victory for the Pure-bloods! Therefore, it makes perfect sense for our Lord's achievement. I congratulate him."

There was more respectful, but not necessarily enthusiastic clapping.

A moment later, and everyone went back to their business. Jugson and Rosier looked relieved and got themselves as far from Voldemort in the room as they dared. When nobody was looking, Voldemort accioed the dagger back to him, and inserted it up, and under his left sleeve again. He could not risk discarding a potentially useful weapon, not even for a moment. 

Note: Daggers achieved public notoriety in the 20th Century as ornamental uniform regalia during the fascist dictatorships of Mussolini's Italy and Hitler's Germany. Daggers are also shown in the Pure-blood house of Black, next to snakeskin, the reason I came up with this game.


	40. Young Lust 6

Continuation of….

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Voldemort had evidently disappeared, until gradually the liveliness inside the billiard room was restored to its full pitch. No longer was there nervous glancing over one's shoulder wondering if you'd find the Dark Lord with that ever looming possibility of his wrath.

Yaxley was conversing animatedly with Lucius Malfoy, when clearly he ended the conversation and stalked over to one of the Roulette tables. Meanwhile, Greyback, clutching his tankard, with deliberate intent came over to Yaxley. Greyback swayed, about to lose balance.

"How about a game of Roulette?" said Greyback with ease, but there was a hint of rabid eagerness hidden in the voice.

Yaxley crossed his arms defensively and shot several glances all over the room, as if summing up who the audience would be.

"What makes you think I'd ever gamble with you?" said Yaxley derisively. There could be no doubt his prejudice towards Werewolves was strong and he wasn't sure he wanted anyone to see him associating with Fenrir Greyback.

A shadow passed over Greyback's face, a flicker of the wolf inside showing. Yet he restrained himself and answered reasonably, "I have secured myself a fortune from the Dark Lord. Hundreds of galleons it be for getting the muggles for the fun. Perhaps a Death Eater would want to gain it over or -… my pile of gold grows!"

"Very well, but this is strictly business Greyback!," relented Yaxley.

"Of course, of course," answered Greyback nodding his shaggy head several times.

There was never a dealer in the Malfoy's billiard rooms, so Yaxley took the initiative, "Black or red and even or odd, Greyback?"

"Er…Black Odd. Wait no - red even. No - black even er - odd. Fine…RED. Odd," he finally finished. He seemed frantic over making a decision, as if it really mattered which combination he took.

Yaxley scowled, and then laid out the items that were supposed to represent his chips. The items representing chips were nearly as big as hubcaps, as they were Galleons. In Wizard Roulette, if you didn't have at least four actual Galleons, then you didn't play at all. Silver Sickles and bronze Knuts could not count as chips unless you exchanged them for Galleons.

With every ounce of strategy and thought, Yaxley competitively laid out his chips on the black even spaces of the roulette table, paying great attention. Whilst, Greyback dumped a pile of gold on the table and stacked them up on the odd red spaces. The numbers ranged from 1-36, 18 red, and 18 black.

"Go first, friend. What's your name anyway?" purred Greyback.

"…I'm head of Magical Law Enforcement. Don't you keep up with things? It's Yaxley," he groaned reluctantly as he glanced up and saw to his horror an entire circle of spectators. "I'll give your spin," he added.

Yaxley had his wand out, and aiming at the mahogany roulette table it began to spin for Greyback's numbers. Naturally, in Wizard Roulette a player could not spin for himself, so one of his opponents always did. The dials of the roulette table tweaked, and then miniature crystal balls like the ones in Divination were shooting under the glass of the wheel. Greyback had taken out his sheet of snakeskin he'd nicked before and began nuzzling it against his whiskered cheek.

As if a Muggle lottery, the numbers came up, but instead through a hazy fog clearing on each divination ball, the size of marbles, which went through the slots, thus stopping their rotations around the wheel at either a red or black track. Each time a new number appears on the same ball. A fair share of them landed on the red areas for Greyback, yet many did not land in the correct spaces as luck would have it.

Yaxley with one shrewd eye summed up the results of the score board of probabilities and with the other eyeing the wheel. "Ah…Looks like I've gained the upper hand, Werewolf. Hand over thirty-two of your galleons, now."

Greyback blinked stupidly, and he swayed a little again. "Is that right? You did the numbering correct, Yaxley, eh? Alright! Thirty galleons…But you'll have another go against me won't you?" said Greyback grudgingly.

Yaxley nodded slowly with a snobby look on his brutal features.

Greyback did not move an inch. He flexed his muscles and said demandingly, "I'm callin' the shots, Yaxley. I say I make a bet!…All eighteen of your numbers falls on black between any of the even numbers. Just how you want it, Yaxley. That's how I theenks it…."

There was loud murmuring from the nearly two dozen individuals watching, mixed with skeptical hisses of unheard retorts to this bet. Some of the Witches and Wizards shook their heads incredulously.

Yaxley did not answer at once. He looked confused and suspicious now.

Finally Yaxley spoke smartly, "…All of it falls, where I want it Greyback? Let me get this straight…You're actually betting, I win so that you may win? You want me to bet against myself winning then?"

Greyback just shrugged carelessly in response. And to Yaxley's words some of the crowd snickered at the irony under their breath, a child's laughter could be heard ringing as well. Meanwhile, Greyback remained motionless, watching and waiting for something.

"Someone else will have to spin the wheel for you, Yaxley. The Werewolf scum can't do it now he's making such a hogwash notion of a bet!"

"I know!," said Yaxley imperiously. He looked angry. "What do you think I am some kind of idiot like him?," he directed at his friend and fellow Death Eater, Dolohov.

Dolohov did not answer, but chose to gape at Greyback with an impending threat instead.

"Well, I'm certainly not the idiot here!…" And then after these words spoken by Yaxley, he was grimacing devilishly at the Werewolf, hatred etched in his visage. With serious fury Yaxley said, "Your betting 'Even Money' you fool. That means if you lose, according to the Arithmancy conversion…I get all of your Galleons. But why bet to the maximum when you'll lose for certain that way? The odds are astronomical that you'll get the full payout!"

Greyback did not look angry, but cool and almost confident, despite his slurred speech, "Perhaps not. The risk is all thrill I need. And if I win, not you…I get all your Galleons on the table, Yaxley." And at Greyback's explanation there was a maliciousness, a greediness concealed underneath, however difficult to detect in him, as his eyes roved over the pile of Yaxley's gold laid out.

And Antonin Dolohov spiteful, yet glad to do it for Yaxley, (whom he was indeed friends with) stepped forward from the circle of onlookers and pulled his wand out aggressively making a swiping sound cut the air. At once the wheel started spinning at Dolohov's direction, it's revolutions so fast nobody could see the board with the crystal balls rolling around the perimeter, and coming closer and closer to the slots.

As the sound of the wheel spinning, which trilled like a ladder repeatedly clinking, Yaxley yelled over the din, "And when that win of yours doesn't happen…I'll make an intelligent, likely bet against your money!"

From the very start of Yaxley's turn, Greyback had his wand out, yet it was unseen, just barely poking out of the folds of the ceremonial Death Eater robes, and he was facing away from the crowd. The wheel started slowing in momentum, but the balls kept rolling under the glass, containing them inside.

And then all the even balls were moving into the black slots. The odd ones going to several much more random places. Finally the tiny crystal balls stopped wobbling, and lay completely still. Every last one of them was where Greyback had bet they would go.

A bombardment of wild laughter broke, people thumping each other's backs and stamping their feet in merriment. Yaxley's face grew rapidly bulging into a beet red, and his neck throbbing. One wouldn't be surprised if steam didn't come out his head. He couldn't stand to lose and what was worse to a Werewolf. Yet Dolohov did not laugh at Yaxley's huge loss and surprisingly, neither did Greyback.

"Well?…Give it to me. It's mine. Every galleon, Yaxley. Pay up!" Greyback rasped throatily.

"I rise to the challenge, Greyback! Win another time, (which you won't) and you would get…another couple of hundred from my vault in Gringott's. I'll be daring…Go ahead and keep the terms of the bet. I swear you'll lose. It's impossible to meet those odds twice!"

Greyback licked his lips, and rubbed his snakeskin against his palms delectably, and it made a sound like sandpaper rubbing. "My talisman…Ah. It most certainly feels acceptable!"

Yaxley whipped his wand out, to move the wheel for Greyback's turn. His eyes flashing, the wheel started creaking like a ladder rail once again. The stakes were now getting even higher the suspense building to unbearable proportions for Yaxley. 

As the wheel started to slow, Yaxley curled his hands into fists, he looked crazy, maddened with rage.

"I'm going to…I'm going to drain every scrap of your substance beast! Give me all night if I have to!"

And at Yaxley's pathetic words, laughter rent the air once more, but not as wild as it had erupted like before.

Unbelievably, Greyback's own turn was successful, yet of course it did not go by the terms of the bet, as it was not Yaxley's turn now. All the crystal balls went for the red slots and odd numbered, which was of course, in Greyback's favour.

"What?," screamed Yaxley and his hands went to his head, looking panicked at his loss.

Before the menacing jeers from the crowd could build, Greyback had toppled over in his drunken sways. A burst of light, shot forth from his wand, and then his grip loosened and his wand was clattering onto the stone floor, and rolling away from him.

Greyback, now on his hands and knees went groping for it desperately, and at his loss of inhibitions from the alcohol he consumed, merely shouted, "Whoops. Accident."

But before Greyback could have ever gotten to his wand someone else had scooped it up in quick succession. Meanwhile, there were several surprised notes of dismay from the crowd. Something wasn't right about Greyback's luck anymore.

It turns out Snape was the one who had confiscated the Werewolf's wand. Snape murmured the spell that detects the previous incantation. "Ah, so clever, yet so simple. All it was, was the Descendo charm. It gave the pieces the perfect push to move down to the correct slot…," explained Snape amusedly, his lip curling.

Note: Sorry I end here…an enormous row scene coming! I hope you liked it. And yes, there is a reason for this all. I do not like Nerio says I do 'bounce from character to character' without reason. This story has a definite ending and we are starting to get closer to it. Less than 1/3 of the story is left.


	41. Young Lust 7

Continuation of...

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

And now nobody in the vicinity was laughing. The air around the circle was stiffening, becoming palpably deafening. Undoubtedly, it was the lull just before the storm.

Greyback shrieked, "Give me my wand! Give it me at once, Snape!" Greyback could certainly sense he was in danger and he was frightened.

Snape just shook his head with a wry smile.

The werewolf got to his feet, and ambled through the circle, which instantly closed in. But suddenly Yaxley was invading his space, right up against Greyback's face, nose to nose. He wanted to stand up to himself, confront Greyback, the one who had made him look like a loser in front of so many. Before so many distinguished people the reputation he'd worked so hard for was besmirched!

"Filthy! Cheating! Thief!," seethed Yaxley, giving a bellowing taunt to every word. "And I can smell the stench of werewolf on you, Greyback!"

At these words, several, some instinctively so immersed in the bigotry of their culture, spat on the floor and then proceeded with the back of their hands' to wipe their mouths' with revulsion.

And because Greyback had no wand, he punched the man hard, a walloping press to the center of the pancreas. Yaxley, who had an unusually strong pain threshold, what with being a Death Eater, only keeled over slightly, gasping for air but simultaneously managed to wrestle Greyback to the ground, whilst yanking his wand out.

But the hint at the wolf characteristics was fully exuding on Greyback's demeanor now. He seemed to morph into a super-human strength, and he threw Yaxley off him, who went flying into the air and landed with a soft bounce, as Wizards are immune from getting hurt at being dropped or thrown short distances, no matter how hard they land.

Greyback leapt up in terror, and seeing the circle closing around him, he actually dropped on all fours. His teeth were bared, and he snarled letting out a low growl. Wands were raised, and some people were breaking up the circle, too cowardly to help fight the werewolf, even if he wasn't in his actual form that could only be witness to on a full moon.

Scabior offered with determined conciliation, yelling, (as he did have a secret cordial relationship with him, yet he wasn't tactless enough to admit it here), "Greyback, this is Scabior, your favourite bloke. Stop this spectacle or you'll be getting a severe censorship from me, the bloody Chief Snatcher, Greyback!"

But two seconds past and Greyback had not registered the warning from Scabior. He literally leapt from the stone carpeted floor, and landed, with a mighty pounce on the smooth glass of the roulette table. He really, truly looked and acted like a wild animal now. He snarled like a dog, showing all his brown pointed teeth, baring and grinding them viciously.

Yaxley with his wand raised made a few steps towards the Roulette table, but Dolohov was too quick. He grabbed his friend by the back of the elbows and triceps, restraining him with his arms over Yaxley's chest from the back.

Yaxley, himself still blinded with rage, complained, "Let me get him! Duel that thing! He embarrassed me. I'll show him Pure-blood might is worth tens times his shit!"

Greyback seemed to paw the ground and then lifted one sinewed arm, and absentmindedly started licking his long yellow-coloured fingernails, sucking bits of grime off them.

Everyone was watching in a horrific, indecisive gaze in these crucial couple of seconds. Before anyone could think, Greyback had leapt from the table and soared over the heads of some of the circle. As this happened spell lights ricocheted and collided with each other, but none of them hit the renegade monster. He now prowled behind the circle, where his electrified eyes spotted Rookwood and Theodore Nott playing Wizard Chess.

Like an animal for it's prey he meandered slightly behind them, trotting an unpredictable path in which more spells missed him by inches. Instinctively he was sly and planned to sneak up on them. Evidently it was working for the erotic violent music boomed so loud and the voices of dozens still mixed from the other end of the huge billiard room, combined with their concentration. Therefore they were completely oblivious to the cries of panicked, "Watch out!"

"Now the Pure-bloods Gambit…Knight to C-4 and this move…Yes, overtakes the enemy's Queen through a ruse. The ruse makes use of-," explained Rookwood patiently, as his Knight smashed what was Theodore's Queen in two.

Suddenly there was a shattering crash, and the little table in a lonely corner of the Billiard room where Rookwood and Theodore had been playing was rudely interrupted. The table flipped over, the two sand-filled hour glasses used to time their turns, lay broken in shards upon the floor. The little chess pieces ran scattering for cover.

Theodore darted slightly to the side, and salvaged getting his jaw bit by inches. Clearly, the youthful, stringy weedy-looking Theodore Nott had been Greyback's target. He does love to bite them young, he certainly did not want the elder Rookwood's blood.

People screamed. And more people ran from the scene. But now the entire billiard room was watching, some from several yards away.

"I could do for a snack," announced Greyback loudly.

Theodore tried to escape from Greyback's line of vision, but then Greyback's crazy eyes spotted him again, and a light filled them. But before Greyback could attempt another bite, the stooped stature of Augustus Rookwood thumped his staff against the floor. His staff banged gouges into the floor so that they resembled craters or potholes. This was his casting the Defodio spell thus making Greyback lose balance from the tiny earthquake tremors occurring again and again.

And then suddenly Bellatrix, who was in the room came bounding forward. The bravest person in the room, she stood above Greyback, who was now huddling in the fetal position. "Incarcerous," she said righteously.

The crowd waited with bated breath for what Bellatrix Lestrange, would do next now that the Werewolf was finally inert. "You are nothing but a pawn for the Dark Lord. A scavenger for him. Seeking all your rotten gold. You are disloyal – wasted werewolf, you exist for mere profit and servitude."

Greyback squirmed under his bonds and retaliated, "Let me go! Let me go! Release me woman! The Dark Lord wants me to live. I swear!"

"I know he does," said Bellatrix sweetly. "And don't you dare speak to a Pure-blood Witch with disrespect. Never again!….Dirty mouth, trying to taint us with his sickness!"

And Bellatrix, not afraid of being bitten, stomped on Greyback's mouth, forcefully with the sole of her shoe. Some people clapped in response, delighted at the entertainment.

"Now let me think what to do," simpered Bellatrix. And as she supposedly contemplated his fate, she downed the last of the firewhiskey in her hand. Then out came a chocolate cockroach cluster at the end of the bottle. She squeezed it between thumb and forefinger, until she drank all it's juice and with a final smile, popped the cockroach cluster and chewed it, leisurely Greyback watching intently all the while, feeling ever more intimidated.

As soon as Bellatrix was done, without the slightest thought she raised her wand high over her head, arching her wrist down at Greyback, "Cruc-"

She was cut short, by of all people Narcissa, screaming bloody murder, "BELLA! Get off. He is mine!"

Bellatrix turned her head back, to see Narcissa standing in back of her, still clad in the erotic dressrobes. "Cissy?," she said quizzically, stepping away from Greyback's prostrate form.

But Narcissa did not even look around at her sister. Instead she saw a gleaming dragon-headed dagger some forty feet away or so. "Accio dagger!" Narcissa said clearly and she was not the least bit demure.

The dagger came propelling forward, and Narcissa caught it by the tips of her bejeweled fingers, her slender wrist sliding it through her hand.

Narcissa got down on her knees in front of the matted hair and sweaty form of Fenrir Greyback. She raised the small dagger, aiming it for the werewolf's chest, "For your obscene humor. You shall never speak ill of me again! I shall run you through with this knife!"

Greyback looked terribly frightened, but he did not plead mercy. Rather his eyes were empty and calm, devoid of any compasssion at all, even when it came to himself.

And then Narcissa cut the air, striking down like an anvil for Greyback's chest.

"Mother! No! Don't….Don't do it!"

It was Narcissa's son, Draco in the crowd. Narcissa stopped in mid-air, but did not cease to relinquish her intent, the dagger dangling by her wrist in the air, poised for its destination.

Draco was gripping in his hands, the Hawthorn Wand, or what was now really the Elder Wand and he looked terrified. And suddenly Greyback's head was spinning round and round, and becoming distorted changing into a hideous something. A few seconds later, and Greyback's head was transformed into a bird with a red face, orange rimmed beady eyes, and the further adornment of a feather sticking out the crown of his head like an eccentric pointed hat. He looked truly ridiculous, clad in Death Eater Ceremonial Robes and with the head of an authentic-looking vulture!

Everybody was now turning their heads back and forth between Greyback and Draco with shock. "What?! He insulted my mother!" exclaimed Draco to the crowd, fierce devotion in his heart. For Draco had heard bits of the conversation between Narcissa and Fenrir whilst Snatchers were carving the muggle bodies. But that was only half the story as to why Draco reacted like that, the other half (though he would never admit it), was that he did not want to see his mother kill somebody.

Because Draco's Transfiguration was incomplete, Fenrir could still speak and think like a human (plus Greyback could never be an animagus). Through his sharp-curved beak Greyback spoke, his beady vulture eyes's as dark yellow as muck, "Yep, the boy is speaking sense! I called her…his of course. I mean look at the sight of her! And him bedddin' her and all…," and Fenrir spoke of Narcissa having sex with Voldemort, with casual clarity as if everyone knew. He did not know it was a secret and it was quite puzzling regarding how Greyback had even heard of it himself.

Bellatrix at this reminder now glowered at her sister dangerously. Draco, meanwhile had gulped at hearing the reality of the awful truth again and tears were hiding behind his gray eyes. At these words, the crowd started whispering indiscernable phrases, clearly trying to pull the pieces together. Some of them looked like they had already guessed correctly that it was the Dark Lord, yet they would not dare speak publicly of this. 

And with the wisdom of a royal queen, Narcissa commanded icily, "Silence!" And she whirled her wand at Greyback simultaneously casting her form of a Silencio charm. Greyback's hands went to his throat like he was choking but no sound issued. Narcissa wanted to keep him quiet and prevent her fear that he would boldly declare any moment now in plain English exactly what she was being ordered to do for Draco's sake. And before she really was vile enough to attempt the murder of him simply because he somehow found out she was forced to do it with Voldemort after the Festival of the Pure-bloods, and she didn't want the news spread.

Greyback was still sitting like an idiot up on the stone floor. Dolohov came over and shoved Greyback down again, as roughly and deliberately as he could. "That's for disgracing the fucking uniform," said Antonin Dolohov darkly. "Shouldn't be wearing…I've half a mind to tear you in two…." And then Dolohov towered over the werewolf and punched him in the balls, " for muggle dueling Yaxley before!"

And then Greyback tottered over and clutched his groin, wordlessly, his lips moving as if to moan in pain, yet of course he still could not make speech under Narcissa's silencing charm.

Then Rookwood came over, his face pockmarked and stooped as he leaned on his wooden staff. Rookwood took the tankard Greyback had been drinking awhile ago and poured it on him, sloshing all over Greyback's body, soaking his robes. "Go lick your loins, werewolf."

Then several guests did the finishing remarks, muttering under their breath with careless neglect as if Greyback was garbage. They repeated "beast" and "werewolf", creating a synergistic effect. They spat on the tied up werewolf, and then walking by carelessly, Greyback was now a completely subuded pathetic creature, finally defeated.

Note: I did not make Greyback act beastly withot reason. It is pointed at in canon that even in human form he acted this way in HBP book. During the aftermath of Snape killing Dumbledore Greyback was seen running around the grounds on all fours and we know he bit Bill even though he wasn't transformed at the time. And Narcissa is not so pitiable here is she? I think she would be like this, so vengeful and dangerous whenever someone threatens herself or her Draco or Lucius. She would have plunged the knife if it wasn't for Draco. Maybe it would have killed Greyback (no loss there though). This chapter probably blew you away with all the intrigue and drama. I feel like it's getting sad for some reason, they are all in such horrific situations.


	42. Young Lust 8

Continuation of...

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

The show was finally over, nobody bothering Fenrir Greyback for the duration of the rest of the time spent in the billiard room. Things were quiet a few minutes later and nobody went to the isolated freak, and rumors were circulating on several varying versions on how Greyback had almost bit Theodore Nott.

Theodore stood stranded in the midst of a small entourage of gossiping witches and wizards. Questions were posed at him such as: "Were you scared?", "How close was the werewolf?", "How did you get by without even a scratch?"

Theodore just shook his head. Dryly answering, "It was nothing, really." Theodore did not look the least bit excited about telling the story of his escape. He was not the type to brag about his adventures. In fact he never had any adventures. He was sullen about his incident with Greyback.

Meanwhile, Draco and Narcissa were together sitting at the very long counter in front of a line of alcoholic beverages. Narcissa opened a bottle of wine carefully with long, manicured fingernails and gave it to her son. He took it and drank from the bottle throatily. Narcissa did not get a drink for herself.

"So... my son. You heard about it…" she whispered tenderly and with a mother's touch, Narcissa cleared the bangs off Draco's wet brow. She was heartbroken he knew.

"I heard of it all from that-that Greyback…Why is he making you do this?," practically bawled Draco, and he tried very hard not to cry. Of course, the "he" meant Voldemort.

Narcissa stroked his head, and then put an arm around his shoulder, whilst sitting perched in front of him. "It's for your sake, Draco. You see, I was forced into a deal with the Dark Lord."

"Another one?!" said Draco startled, remembering the stress he went through all last year with the events around Snape's Unbreakable Vow and Draco having to be ordered to kill Dumbledore. And now Draco looked up, from dipping his head into his chest. He tried very hard not to look past his mother's drained face. He could not bare to see his mother's exposed nipples in crystal braces.

"It's not as dangerous as you think, Draco! It's going to be fine. Mother won't let the Dark Lord wreck your life too."

"I know that…," said Draco sourly. "How does this concern me now?," said Draco clearly frazzled.

Narcissa shook her head, and dismissively answered, "It's nothing serious, Draco."

Draco just sighed, knowing it was obvious his mother wasn't going to tell him a thing. Meaning Narcissa would not tell him how Voldemort had said that if she didn't do what was asked of her, he would not allow Draco to finish his education.

"Oh, but where is Lucius?" wailed Narcissa, suddenly consumed all for herself once again, forgetting her son's misery. She had spoken more to herself. 

"I don't know where father is…but mother-," Draco piped up again, hollowly. "I saw A-aunt Andromeda the other day and she-she was forced to have intercouse with Professor Snape. But mother…it was father who asked Snape to do it! And then father…made her…made her suck it. Then father said I would get to…"

And Draco suddenly pulled back from sobbing, "I don't want that to happen to you, mother! I mean…," and Draco seemed to swallow and said heartily, "you're better than a Blood-traitor. Doesn't the D-Dark Lord know this?"

"Yes. He has great respect for me as a Pure-blood, Draco. He will treat me like a queen," lied Narcissa convincingly, but Draco looked doubtful anyway.

As Draco, said this, Lucius had came over, his presence imposing in his black and silver dressrobes, which are not Death Eater ceremonial robes. Narcissa's azure eyes widened, aware he had heard the last conversation exchanges. He moved into Draco's line of vision hovering between the two seated at the counter.

He bent down into Draco's face, and the eyes like chipped ice looked at his son disconcertingly. He whispered loudly, "I didn't make her do it for pleasure. My pleasure is reserved for your mother alone to give. Certainly not for filthy Blood-traitors or of anything else I've ever ravaged. So get that out of your head at once, Draco! I do it just because I can."

Draco's face turned to sickened disgust at his father, an unhealthy gray tinge. He seemed to steel himself, his expression filling with slight guilt. "I will never go along with it again, father!," screamed Draco emotionally. 

"Really Draco? You can't refuse to take part in the deepest principles of Death Eaters. We are here to pillage all we can and to lead over the lesser kinds. Are you a Death Eater or not?" 

"I'm still wearing the badge of skin, aren't I?…I think so!" said Draco, with loyal vanity. "But- I'm not my father's son!," he burst revengefully. Instantly he regretted it, for he had not really meant what he said.

Vituperative in speech, Lucius responded, "You are a Malfoy as long as I say so! A man of privileged position!…Or does a strapping lad of seventeen still need his father to whip his arse?"

"No, father," said Draco, with a shiver of fear, no longer combative. He did not have the guts to really stand up to his father, even now as a young man.

Narcissa tried to quell Lucius's anger, with a look of pleading disapproval. She did not want him to lay a finger on Draco. Not now, when he had not done anything that annoyed her. There had been times in the past though when she had wanted Lucius to whip Draco, and he had.

Narcissa reached her hand out, comfortingly, towards Lucius's arm, but he wrenched himself away violently.

"I saw it happen. Your ridiculous outburst, Narcissa. I was too embarrassed to act. It's a good thing you didn't leave Greyback to me. This is all turning out to be an embarrassing travesty. When this fucking, wasted crappy celebration is over, you'll meet with me after. After you're done whoring with him!"

"Get out of my sight, Narcissa. Tonight, I could not be more ashamed to be your husband."

She cried in desperation, "I can't help it, Lucius. It's not my fault. I'm only doing it to help our son!"

He sneered at this, and then poked his pimp cane at Draco, he beat it against Draco's leg, which was sticking out as he sat on the stool. "Stop displaying affection for your mother in public, Draco. I've told you, this is not how a Malfoy behaves."

But Draco did not listen, he just bent in closer to his mother, and took another gulp of his wine. His mother was willing to reach out to comfort him, and Draco allowed her an embrace.

Lucius returned to the other end of the counter, several yards away, grabbing another drink from the line of floating, sealed beverages. He sat downing it with a sign of great irritation about him. In the haze of the smoky room, Lucius choked the liquor down. His thoughts over what Voldemort was going to do to his wife.

Note: this is all I can do for now…Next is a little more interaction between some different characters. I will update very soon. I hope you think Lucius, Draco and Narcissa were in character. I found this scene challenging, and probably not exactly where I want it. Malfoy dynamics is not as easy for me to write well, like how easier it is for me to write Voldemort. Yet this scene is important for setting up the ending.


	43. Young Lust 9

Continuation of...

Chapter Eleven: Young Lust

Several minutes later, it was quiet inside a nearly deserted billiard room, in which only three people remained. Even the wind chime music had stopped playing.

Severus Snape plodded heavily over to one of the roulette tables, the one where a mass of galleons lay upon it. His black eyes scanned it momentarily and then at the smaller pile he hissed, "Evanesco…" At the prodding of his wand, all of Fenrir Greyback's golden galleons chips that had been laid out on the table before disappeared.

Without another glance he turned away from the spot, and went towards the direction of Greyback at the other end of the width of the billiard room. But then abruptly he stopped. He was sure he heard someone stir in the shadows.

In haste, Snape turned around, raising his wand high, using the Four-Point Spell nonverbally to guide him to the exact location of the disturbance. All he found was another Death Eater still standing in the billiard room. Yaxley emerged forward and went over to the remaining pile of gold that had been his money laid out before. Glaring at Snape, he coveted it and started throwing handfuls back into the deep pockets of his robes.

As he did so, Yaxley glared reproachfully at Snape, as if he were thinking Snape might want to steal it.

Snape saw the bitter attitude, but said nothing. He walked back towards the roulette table, closer to Yaxley and further from Greyback, the light from the Four-Point Spell still shining from the tip of his wand.

He stopped his trek, ending his heavy measured footsteps. Snape pressed his hands onto the surface of the roulette table, his demeanor composed.

"Letting a werewolf get you riled up…One would expect more control, Yaxley. Giving him such attention, just gave him the satisfaction. You should have ignored him."

The enmity between the two could not have been plainer, Yaxley's face contorted and he screeched in defence of himself, "He was a cheating filthy piece of scum who tried to swindle me Snape!"

It was loud enough for anyone to hear inside the room, but Greyback at the other end was passed out from his drunken state.

Snape smiled meanly. "You're nothing but a maverick, Yaxley."

"What are you getting at Snape?," replied Yaxley, reckless in his query. He looked at Snape, glaringly, sizing him up, in which Yaxley was about the same height as Snape, both standing at just over six feet.

"Your the type who uses his position to infiltrate, like you did getting through the senior ranks of the ministry. It is what makes you a maverick. Yet you will never make it the top ranks in the Death Eaters, Yaxley."

"You may not consider me an equal Snape. But let me remind you: I'm a spy just like you. I worked hard to make the transfer of power happen inside the government. Am I not the one who got the Dark Lord's coup going? The one who placed the initial prolonged Imperius Curse, setting the catalyst for the rest of the Department Heads getting Imperiused by Thickness? And now the Dark Lord's made me an interrogator for the new order….So don't tell me I'm not important! I may have witnessed you killing Dumbledore, but I can see you're a spy and you know what Snape? Sometimes I wonder for which side you are on..."

Snape's face slackened and whitened and his hands curled into fists at his sides. Before he could speak, though Yaxley had lunged at him. Instinctively, Snape responded raising his wand, aiming it straight at Yaxley's throat. There past a calculating look in Snape's black eyes. He looked at his other empty hand, long fingers spread, and then with it, grabbed Yaxley by the lining of his ceremonial robes, pulling him up off the floor.

"Are you threatening me, Yaxley?" breathed Snape.

Yaxley murmured in a low voice, "More warning you like…" Gathering his courage Yaxley steeled his insides, adding, "Well, yes, I suppose I am...You may have killed the Dark Lord's only barrier to his autonomy, but I will go further!"

Snape let out a skeptical sneer from his hooked nose and then said quietly, "You don't want me as your enemy, Yaxley."

Yaxley looked frightened but he managed to mostly hide his fear, "Get your hands off me...I'm Head of Magical Law Enforcement!"

Snape did not free Yaxley from his grip.

"And I am Headmaster of Hogwarts, and let us not forget, the Dark Lord's right hand man, so if I were you, I would dare imply sending some ministry official to arrest me. Your situation, remains tied to the fact that you are...but perhaps in the middle of the grand echelon, Yaxley? Your problem is you refuse to subsume yourself to perfect obedience. You must understand that to succeed you act like you live only to serve him."

"I'm subsuming myself where I want to be! One day I'll be you Severus Snape and you'll probably be dead!," said Yaxley enthused at the thought of Snape dead.

Snape ignored this and looked apprasingly at Yaxley. He said coolly, "Did YOU seek out the Dark Lord after he had vanished?"

"You didn't do so either, did you Snape?...Thought him finished, didn't you?" accused Yaxley intelligently, quick on the uptake, and not the least bit humbled by the fact that he had ignored his Mark burn that June day in 1995. "Well, I thought the same. Great minds think alike…"

"Liar," condemned Snape. "Let me remind you, Yaxley. You have done nothing. You were not rewarded for your efforts like the Lestranges, the Crouches or even Wormtail was. It all means the Dark Lord does not hold you in the esteem your merely hoping for. I meanwhile- have proved myself, far beyond any of the others." 

Yaxley scoffed, "Either way, nobody trusts you, Snape. There's something fishy about the way you talk about the Order of the Phoenix.…And I have news for you Snape, I am a Legilimens too, as well as an excellent liar."

Snape was not incsensed but plunged on with his own thoughts, not harrowed by Yaxley's jibes. 

Snape spoke next, "As I recall from the others' tales of the graveyard in Little Hangleton, you did not answer the call at his rebirthing, either. Not one of his most loyal and devout followers are you?"

Yaxley now was really ticked off. "Times have changed Snape. There is something major in it for me, and for my Pure-blood dynasty, the Yaxleys. What are you but a lonely Half-blood Snape? I've heard all the jokes...how you used to love a silly girl, a Mudblood. Lucius and I had a laugh, but it's all old hat now. Who was the girl, Snape?"

"None of your business Yaxley," retorted Snape, now looking truly angry himself and feeling he was on the verge of losing control, a vein was popping on his temple. He hated that word "Mudblood", but to use it against him, in the context of one of the greatest losses of his life?! "I suppose you'll enjoy interrogating the...the Muggle-borns, won't you?"

"I will," said Yaxley harshly, and a smile passed briefly on his brutal face. As an afterthought Yaxley added cleverly, "You did not see his resurrection, either."

"You ignoramus man! Don't talk about what you don't understand!" And now Snape was letting his fury show, his usually stable emotions losing balance, spit flew from his mouth. "For your information, I exonerated myself. The Dark Lord gave me clemency for my absence." And now Snape's face looked as white as a ghost.

Yaxley said, "As long as I'm around, your position within the Death Eaters is not safe. Expect me to interfere sometime."

Snape seemed to gather his thoughts as he watched Yaxley depart, who left on his own accord.

Then he turned his back and went towards the werewolf. He did the counter-spell of Incarcerous and Greyback's bonds snapped free.

"Rennervate!," said Snape. It was the spell used to bring someone out of an unconscious state.

Greyback came back to awareness. He took a breath and then his rough hands went to his head, feeling it. He muttered, "What the hell? Where is my hair? What the hell happened?"

But then he felt the beak for a mouth and remembered.

Snape did not answer, but threw Greyback's wand at him. Greyback caught it easily. "You ought not to use it for the rest of the night, if you've got any brains in there," muttered Snape.

Greyback was still struggling to undo the transfiguration and merely nodded stupidly, as he pointed his wand at himself. Apparently Draco had a talent, for Greyback was unable to find a way to remove the vulture form from his face. 

Snape did not have the heart to remove the vulture visage, but watched amusedly.

"Come... We're supposed to convene up in the main hall," said Snape to Greyback and he followed him out the billiard room.

Note: I have always had an intuition on Yaxley's character. One gets the feeling in Chapter one of DH, that Yaxley is competing with Snape to gain Voldemort's higher favour. I also get the feeling Yaxley is a wily, Gryffindor. Evil, though…Should have been a Slytherin, but as a youth was put in Gryffindor. I do not believe his family, although Pure-blood was from the supremacists, though he himself embraced it in the First War. Still too young to really prove himself, then. Now he believes he is getting his chance. I felt it essential to add this little confrontation, despite it having no repercussions in the plot. I felt it should happen and I wanted to show it. It is still interesting as it gives us more Snape time and we see some of Yaxley's justifications for joining the Death Eaters.


	44. Astronomy Domine

I don't even know why I take the time to put it up here, when nobody ever reviews most of my chapters. Oh, well. Please have mercy and review.

Note: By this point in the party it is around three in the morning.  
I'm changing into a new chapter for now, but later I might change how the chapters are again. Of course, it does not matter. I'm trying to give a nod to Pink Floyd. There is a reason why I called the following new chapter what it is, which I'll explain a bit later. Domine means "lord" in Latin, which is part of the reason I call it this. I can't explain or I'll have to say before I write it.

Chapter Twelve: Astronomy Domine

Severus Snape and Fenrir Greyback entered the threshold of the cathedral-sized hall where Voldemort's rallying speech had been held several hours ago. Snape left Greyback unattended at once and swept past all the others without a nod of hello or anything.

Nearly all of the Death Eaters were convening as planned inside the cathedral hall, lining up at the entrance. Most of them turned to see Snape and Greyback arrive on the spot, as they put their masks on. Their silver metaled masks, morphing from a vapory liquid into a solid form at the direction of their wands.

A ruckus issued from many of them when they saw Fenrir Greyback rear his ugly head of the vulture form.

"Ah, I see now what you did to him!" said the witch Alecto Carrow through the mouth-hole of her mask. "Good call!" And her stocky cloaked figure gave a wheezy giggle.

Greyback's mucked yellow eyes in the vulture form were flashing and he was reaching for his wand, his unseen hand gripping it under the pocket.

The Death Eaters were apparently lining up for something important. A long line was beginning to form and Snape was moving down the cathedral, inspecting all the Death Eaters present.

Greyback went to take a place in the line. But then someone from behind looked over their shoulder, and saw him through their slit-eyes of their mask.

It was Mulciber. He jumped all the way around, pirouetting like an ice skater doing a turn, his robes whirled as if a sudden gust of wind had blew, and his mask flashed in a glint of silver.

"NO," said Mulciber, through his mask, but it rang clearly throughout the acoustically balanced room.

Greyback had his wand out now, but before he could do anything, a couple of more Death Eaters joined Mulciber. "Get out!," said one of them. 

One Death Eater slashed his wand. Instantly, Greyback's ceremonial robes were ripped, completely down the front, exposing his hairy chest.

"You definitely won't be participating in this honorable vestige of the past!," said Jugson.

And the other one, Macnair wrangled, "A werewolf and a head like that is never one of us!"

But Greyback murmured something about the Dark Lord and strode forward as if to take his place. But then the second he had moved, he was thrown back with the force of a spell. Greyback landed on his ass.

More Death Eaters were watching, wands raised. Greyback picked himself up and saw the situation. He went tumbling down the sidelines as the Death Eaters got back into their places. It looked like Greyback was moonwalking, as his vulture head could swivel on it's neck all the way around, making it look like he was walking backwards. He watched the Death Eaters lining up, resentfully. Meanwhile, at the front of him, was the back of his red feathered head was loping forward, with the hairy chest, going straight for the ballroom theater.

Nott said, shaking his head, "I don't know…You shouldn't have ripped his uniform. The Dark Lord has him permitted to wear it. Although he did not instruct HIM to join our traditions."

Everybody lined up. Pettigrew had changed into his uniform hours ago, when many people had complained about his muddled brown tuxedo of before. And Bellatrix was holding her own towards the very front, rid of her ostentatious red cloak.

The crowd from beyond the hall clamored, an unseen force, with that unmistakable mood of a show about to start, pervading.

Note: the next scenes are very dramatic, think of the rally held at the beginning! Hope you look forward to it!


	45. Astronomy Domine 2

Please review…someone. I worked….so hard on this chapter. Way too hard! Please???

**Continuation of….**

Chapter Twelve: Astronomy Domine 

Moments later, twenty-two of the twenty-five Death Eaters were in a line, each spaced about two yards between each other. All of them systematically tipped their wands at their throats, and muttered the same incantation at once, and then slipped their wands back into their front pockets. They all seemed to be waiting for special instructions. And then they felt it burn, burning into their left forearms. It was their Dark Marks, of course.

Another few seconds went by uneventfully, until music was playing in the ballroom-theater at the end of the cathedral sized hall. But the Death Eaters did not move. They simply raised their arms at ninety-degree angles and raised their masked heads, as if transfixed by the display above: the artificial spell lights flashing in the ceiling. Lengthy reverberations of a flute-like mournful trill mixed with the consistent beat of a warrior drumming was the music echoing from somewhere in the ballroom-theater and traveling to be heard throughout the manor.

There was a moment of introduction for the music, as it seemed to rise. And then the most eerie sound issued of all, voices coming through the uniquely masked Death Eaters: "'**Nox noctis of Resurrectio!' **Night of Resurrection! 

'**Sentio! Atrum Vestigiums ardeo!'** Feel! The Dark Marks burn!"

It was the most somber mood, rising to join the music in a hollow wave, every syllable drifting slowly out of their mouths' deliberately. And it was spoken in the ancient langauge of Latin, something the Death Eaters knew, as magic-folk in Great Britain are familiar with it. This is for the reason that incantations originate in the Latin language, and at Hogwarts many texts are written in Latin, giving the exceptional student an opportunity to learn the ancient words. The words themselves seemed magical now as if they themselves could be some kind of brainwashing spell.

"'**Quaero amo igneus flammas,'**" Sear like fiery flames,

"'**Ardens nostrum tergum et cruorem,'**" Burning our skin and blood,

"'**Quam vestrum citatios ero dedecus nobis!'**" How your summons shall confound us!

To many of them it all felt very nostalgic. Since the early days, even before the first Wizarding War with Voldemort Death Eaters had met around the stone circle of Avebury with the Dark Lord for meetings. This location, which is also called Stonehenge is only a few miles from Malfoy Manor, located in Wiltshire. Latin chants had promoted group solidarity amongst Death Eaters, especially in the earlier days and it stirred very powerful memories for them to hear it now and sing praises in honor of their master. 'Nox Noctis of Resurrectio' (Night of the Resurrection) was one of the newly written and memorized ones.

And now the Death Eaters started moving, their footsteps ringing and tramping down in a measured march, heading into a mirage for it only appeared to be a sloping floor.

They continued to sing as they moved very rigidly with the sonorous charms on their throats, their voice's magically amplified into one. The hundreds of guests in the ballroom-theater could certainly hear their voices boom:

"'**Oh quid beatus formidino nos estis reddo!'** Oh what blessed fear we are rendered!

'**Ut ex magus plurimus miror' **When from magic moste mysterious,

'**Atrum Dominus orior in altus,'** The Dark Lord ascendeth on high,

'**In suus vox nostrum vita pendeo.'** On his word our lives dependeth."

The Death Eaters paused for a couple of seconds as they do at the end of every stanza whenever they chant for a formal occasion. They could see the symbol of Salazar Slytherin with the snake Coat of Arms conjured by Voldemort for his speech before. It was still residing high above, above where he had given his speech on the balcony.

And then the beautiful chant was flowing into everyone's eardrums again:

"'**Miror sentio, Vestigiums operor exuro,'** Wondrous feel, the Marks do burn,

'**Per nostrum potens of cruorem id ardeo.'** Through our potency of blood it burneth."

And of course to this, the Death Eaters were telling of their Pure-blood mania.

"'**Mortis eram evinco, et natura vinco.'** Death was defeated, and nature mastered.

"'**Meum dominus's adeptio suus maiestas,'** My lord's achievement of his greatness."

And though none of the Death Eaters knew of Voldemort's horcruxes, except Snape's educated inference, they had heard him say in the graveyard of Little Hangleton at his rebirthing ceremony, regarding magic and immortality "I who had gone further than any…."

And furthermore, Voldemort had promised those like Macnair new and better victims in the graveyard as well as reward the Crouches and Lestranges "….beyond their dreams" once they were free from Azkaban:

"'**Lo! Vox of Meum dominus:'** Lo! The word of My lord:

'**Quatenus quo ominis fueram existo fidelis,'** Wherein all hast been loyal,

'**Inde continuo mos existo praemium.'** Thenceforth shall be rewarded."

And now the front of the procession was coming close to approaching the entrance. The door being a great statue of a naked witch and wizard standing with a snake entwined at their torsos. Meanwhile, moon rays strayed in from the stain-glass gothic windows in the sides of the hall, shimmering on the floor. Accompanying this was the flashes of artificial spells, sparkling in the windows. The procession continued, seemingly going down into a tunnel. Yet it was actually an optical illusion. This optical illusion in the floor makes it appear like it is curving downward. For the checker black-and-white floor has magic distortion placed on it. And at the next stanza, they rang with deliberate force to every utterance, as if a holy hymn: 

"'**Atrum Dominus eros suus vires,**'" The Dark Lord shall attaineth

'**Apex of suus vires.'** The zenith of his might.

'**Cunctus occultus facinaoris arrain,'** All hidden deeds arraigneth,

'**Nihilum inultus subsido moror commoror.'** Nothing unavenged remaineith."

For this deliberate force of wording was necessary because it had finally come true with the Dark Lord's coup, and thus the greatest peak of his might ever reached.

"'**Ad vestrum vocos nunc, nos memoria tunc.' **At your summons now, we remember then.

'**Oh nox of noctis of Meum dominus's resurrectio!'** Oh night of My lord's resurrection!

'**Meum dominus's orior: sacer doxa.'** My lord's ascension: sacred glory."

Each remained spaced a few yards away from the next as they went slowly like a funeral march, sedate in ceremonial robes. Their uniforms clad them in cloaks of darkness, thus camouflaging them into the surreal darkness of the gorgeous gothic setting of Malfoy Manor. Their homage like monks, satanic monks, sung praises to Lord Voldemort in time to warrior drums sounds issuing the beat. Dark Marks exposed from their open sleeves set at salute, whilst they had been carrying lit torches in their left hands all along, and wearing their tall pointed hats.

The music continued to rise up with an eerie flute-like trilling sound:

"'**Nos fluctus nostrum virgas' prout fidelis proeliators,'** We wave our wands as faithful warriors,

'**Obviam immundus, futurus pulsatus mortuus!'** Against the impure, to be struck dead!

'**Et Dedecus quislibet insultos ad vestrum regno,'** And shame all revilers to your reign,

'**Estis sicut tamen pulvis prisquam ventus.'** They are but dust before the wind.

'**Illud ero decido et existo iaco in ios sepulchrums'**, They shall fall and be laid in their graves', 

'**Ios bones eros putesco insideo terra!' **Their bones shall rot inside the earth!"

The music flowed like the wind, creating timeless wonder.

Just as Regulus Black had believed, so do other Death Eaters: that Voldemort could be the one to get the Wizarding population out of an existence in secrecy, as said:

"'**Atrum Dominus of presencia, grandis et atrox,'** The Dark Lord of power, great and terrible,

'**Quem ero liberum nobis ex velieris,'** Whom shall free us from hiding,

'**Per suus misericordia, Meum dominus faveo nos.'** With his mercy, My lord befriendeth us."

At the conclusion of the stanza above most of the Death Eaters were inside the ballroom-theater by now. Upon entering the ballroom-theater the stage is about ten feet above the floor, so it is a shock once you do turn around and see the full immensity of the room.

As their eyes grew accustomed to the dim lighting of the gigantic oval-shaped, windowless room, they saw guests gradually rising from the rowed seats. All except one person who was not going to rise. Lord Voldemort was in the center of the front of the rows decked out on a throne in the aisle.

The first floor was meant only for dancing, but the Snatchers had conjured comfortable chairs. These Snatchers served as sentinel henchmen standing as security guards during the party, in which there was about fifty of them dispersed throughout the room. Their job was also to do rote magic like conjure chairs when ordered to and they had broken up the mass-dancing going on before, when ordered to by Voldemort.

Scabior, the Chief Snatcher who was supposed to be overseeing and commanding his Snatchers, was instead watching the other Death Eaters in the procession, clad in his magnificent yellow and black Chief Snatchers robes, holding a look of fascinated interest.

Rising above in thin drifts like cirrus clouds of summer, was the incense of sage exuding from somewhere, from where the Death Eaters did not know. The sage was symbolizing the testament to the wisdom of the faithful followers. Furthermore, the oval room had twisted torches against the walls surrounding it, lit by Gabruithian Fire, or eternal fire. This was where Bellatrix had actually gotten the fire for the cauldron in the shrine she had planned. And on the walls of the ballroom theater was a silver silk coating of an illuminated tapestry with ornate paneling. The Malfoy lineage was depicted along with their Coat of Arms located all over it as a pattern. The illumination of the tapestry in the currently dimly lit room, made the tapestry walls glow.

And here in the chant was the Death Eaters' justification for being Crucioed at times, just like they had been punished during his resurrection:

"'**Crimen nam preteritus mendum, nos profiteor,'** Guilt for past mistakes, we confess,

'**Dulcis acerbitas, parco nos,'** Sweet anguish, spare us,

'**Nam illos mereror increpo.'** For those deserved rebukes."

But now, heads were turning, most eyes watching with mixtures of reverence for the Death Eater in his mask and tall pointed hat at the very front of the procession. This Death Eater was the only one carrying a crescent-curved scythe as if it were the holy staff of the Death Eaters. The black scythe or the Grim-reaper's tool was being hoisted by none other than the highest-ranking Death Eater: Severus Snape. He held it loftily and with a slant, and he still exposed his Dark Mark, the colour red visible from the burn. The slant he held it in drew a line between his mask, as if there are two sides to his face, it was like it represented the fact he was playing on both sides. Snape felt his darkest as he carried the archetype of death, the others simply raising their lit torches. He was despondent knowing his death would come, as he was bearing the burden of being a double-agent for Dumbledore.

"'**Dissolutus et defessus, Meum dominus est quaero pro.'** Weak and weary, My lord is sought.

'**Ferens: gravis of mortalitas.'** The bearings the burden of death.

'**Ero talis infirmitas existo nostrum damnum?'** Shall such weakness be our loss? '**Nunquam! Nam potissimus est Meum dominus!'** Never! For principled is My lord! 

'**Quidnam largiors bravium pro fidelis,'** Who bestows rewards for the faithful,  
**'Prius, nox noctis of resurrectio….'** Ere, the night of resurrection…." 

And behind Snape second in line was the surprisingly bold and beautiful soprano voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. She may not share her sister's proclivity for dance, but it was now obvious to all that she could certainly sing. Bellatrix approached going down the aisle, her eyes through her mask clasped firmly onto her Lord. Perhaps in this moment she fantasized longingly that she was his bride.

"'**Beatus formidine nos palpito ut testimonium:'** Blessed fear we tremble to witness:

'**Secundus adveho of Atrum Dominus.'** The second coming of the Dark Lord.

'**Testimonium exsequor abs oraculum's praeconor.'** Seen fulfilled by prophecy's proclamation."

Although nearly all the Death Eaters did not know any of the contents of the prophecy, they had certainly all heard of it, and some believed the prophecy would say of his second coming, however mistaken they are. But there was indeed a prophecy that Pettigrew would rejoin his master, and would therefore make the Dark Lord rise again.

"'**Ad voco iam, Meum dominus, nos memoria tunc.'** At summoning now, My lord, we remember then.

'**Unde vos orior, revenio ad viscus,'** How you rose, returning to flesh,  
**'Instar astrums of sadum caelum'**. Like stars of the celestial sky.

'**Nos summisses praeconor vestrum laureola…vestrum potentias'**. We humbly proclaim your triumphs…your powers. 

'**Vos, O, Atrum of caliga, revenio ad sceptrum cum mors mortis.'** You, O, Lord of darkness, rose to rule with death."

Every last of the twenty-two Death Eaters participating was filed into the ballroom-theater by now, with Snape at the helm coming closer and closer to Voldemort. Their footsteps no longer tramped for they were on a different type of floor now. The floor was unbreakable glass, with foggy shadows somehow cast by each person standing on it, making it similar to foe glass. The tread of their pomp and circumstance was silent, subduing them in their offerings ever more.

"'**Nequam nostrum invocatio,' **Worthless our invocations,

'**Nam nostrum avidus, Meum dominus,'** Yet for our eager worship, My lord,

'**Ad vostrum dextram laudatio nobis,'** To thy right hand praise us,

'**Prout vostrum summisses vasallus.'** As your humble servants."

The somber mood pervaded in the music and then the plainsong's lengthy reverberation of syllables and the resonant mode of the acoustically balanced room created harmony for the music itself.

"'**Sino iugis caliga fulsi inesse nobis in vostrum animositas.' **Let perpetual darkness shine within us upon your wrath.

'**Pro eo nos palpito ad vostrum muneris donec mors mortis.'** For we tremble in your service unto death."

"'**Nos ceptum donum vostrum eternus regno, Meum dominus.'** We receive the gift of your eternal reign, My lord.

'**Ad vostrum citatios nos summisses profiteor.'** At your summoning we humbly profess.

'**Mugio, nos supplex ad obsequium prae vos.'** Low, we kneel in submission before you."

There was a drawn-out pause in the singing, but not magical organ music as everyone watched. Snape stopped before Voldemort's throne, which had not existed in there before, but had been conjured specially by the Snatchers at Voldemort's insistent demand before.

They were mystified by what happened next: Snape knelt before his master, his left knee on the bottom step of the platform leading to Voldemort's seat, and his right foot resting on the top step of the raised platform. It was exactly like a king was receiving Snape.

"'**Extollo ad maiestas sessio of vox:' **Exalted at the majestic throne:

'**Aspicio! Aspicio! Atrum Dominus!'** Behold! Behold! The Dark Lord!"

And then Snape pressed the skythe or the Grim-reaper's tool against his forehead tenderly as if a totem, holding it vertically in his fists. By this point, Voldemort was exalted beyond reason, and could easily be thought of as the king to an outsider. But was more accurately, being treated exactly like an exalted god of war.

With a final ghostly echo of notes, the ancient-like song ended. The organ pipes on the stage above, from which the Death Eaters had entered from under the stage, stopped playing. The incense stopped issuing from under the pipes, in which there was clear liquid-filled cymbals.

There was a starling silence in the huge room, than can seat ten thousand people on the hire levels, not to mention the ballroom floor, with the stage below it.

Meanwhile, Snape waited kneeling, for all the Death Eaters to halt. Once they were done lining up, the Death Eaters faced the crowd, thus away from the stage, standing before empty front-row seats, nearby Voldemort's throne in the aisle, facing Voldemort's face. On the immediate left, next to the aisle, Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco were already seated close to Voldemort. Yet because they were not clad in the uniform, they had an excuse to abstain, but neither had seemed to care whether or not Voldemort complained about their missing attire.

And then, intentionally Snape looked up imploringly as if towards the heavens, his black eyes roving straight up, in line with the scythe, yet there was a pained expression on his face. The Death Eaters copied Snape, throwing their heads back like they did at the start of the chant, gazing towards the heavens. Everyone eventually followed looking up at the ceiling, even Voldemort. Above them was a miraculous sight, a rotating annual constellation map of the celestial sky, all lit up. It was meant to represent a twilight darkness of the afterlife. The wizards in a night time afterlife. Taurus, Aries, everything was mapped up there, with Wizards presumably controlling the heavens.

Snape finished the supplication, after a short moment, turning his eyes away from beauty, and bowing his head as if bowing to dead. Then Snape, laid down the scythe, upon his right knee, and then lowered it to the floor, keeping his head bowed respectfully. Voldemort couldn't help by this point, but a crease of pleasure in the corners of his mouth.

And then Snape mumured, now that his potential "weapon" was laid to rest, "Hail the Dark Lord."

And then they were all looking back at Voldemort, and the Death Eaters at once chanted, "Hail the Dark Lord," as they looked in Voldemort's direction, and almost immediately most of the crowd, all standing mimicked them.

And Voldemort, not showing any obvious delight at all this treatment, merely nodded curtly to Snape's bowed head, and poked his wand over him, vanishing the crescent-curved scythe. It had taken over ten minutes to finish the Death Eater's procession.

Snape rose slowly from his submissive posture and then calmly walked to Voldemort's immediate right, in which the seat was several feet away from Voldemort's throne. Once Snape sat down, the Death Eater finally sat, as the guests returned to their seats.

Three hundred well-connected witches and wizards had remained out of the original number of over four hundred. Plus there were also twenty-five Death Eaters, and fifty of the Snatchers and of course, Lord Voldemort. The multiple, elevated rows were empty, except for several Snatchers standing as guards at intervals, inside a mist of shadowy, slightly-lit arched alcoves, standing hawk-like looking down below.

Please review. I have put so much work in this story, and I'm afraid it is misunderstood. And I actually plan on making it way, way better on the second draft!


	46. Astronomy Domine 3

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

**Continuation of….**

Chapter Twelve: Astronomy Domine

Underneath the celestial domed ceiling of the oval-shaped ballroom-theater was Voldemort near the center sitting on a simple throne made of gold, his cope of crescent moon embroidery out behind him. He nodded towards his left at Lucius.

"Ladies and gentlemen: 'The Queen,' said Lucius in a constrained voice, rid of emotion once he had tipped his wand to his throat so that it had the sonorous charm to magnify it. And Lucius, at Voldemort's second nod to do as Voldemort had planned, tapped his serpent-head pimp cane against the Unbreakable glass floor.

Suddenly the enormous long stage was lit by a spotlight like a patch of moonlight and the music from the organs began again, this time with a different song, a slow mournful tune. Narcissa was in the center in a circle of a spotlight that was like moonlight shining upon her. Narcissa looked plain, but also the mysterious mistress in it, herself furthered by standing beneath the stars of the ceiling.

The crowd clapped surprisingly politely and respectively for Narcissa Malfoy. Narcissa did not look up proudly but hung her head to one side, her long white-blonde hair sweeping past her face, in which there was a glittering forehead band on her head, as if to signify her so-called "queen" status.

Suddenly something that looked like bubbles cascaded from the ceiling above. They were enchanted cages that had a starriness in them with an ambient blue light emanating.

They landed soundlessly on the stage, surrounding Narcissa's circle of moonlight, all of them at the front. Seemingly as if on their own. The enchanted cages appeared to have living beings inside them.

The crowd stirred with curiosity, Draco rising from his seat and raising his forefinger up from his chin, pointing with a pensive look as he tried to place what the creatures were. They looked familiar. Draco was sure he had heard of them before.

And then, like eggs cracking shells open, the glowing starry blue cages came apart. Out of them came huge yellow-feathered birds with clothing just like Narcissa's. They squawked complaints, and their wings beat, yet they seemed incapable of flight.

The crowd began to roar with laughter, at the sight of Narcissa surrounded by them.

"Are those the queen's ladies in waiting?," jeered a random woman in the crowd.

"So much for the Malfoy's courtly love!," a random man echoed from somewhere.

The five bird creatures heard the commotion, and they jumped in their webbed feet, transforming from shock at the sight of hundreds watching them. And suddenly the five birds were not birds, but they were revealed to be Veela all along.

The Veelas started to shake erratic in motion, waving their limbs wildly, causing a gust of wind to break through, which swept past the stage. It was a slight storm started in their anger.

But suddenly they were subdued and stopped moving all at once, which was strange for it's abruptness. It was some of the Snatchers backstage whose job was to control the Veela through the Imperius Curse and they also had been the ones to descend the cages.

The Veela were now stationary, and they submissively complied forming a circle around Narcissa who was beautiful in the center. The mournful music began to pick up in beat. From up close one could see several cuts and bruises on the five Veelas, and they were rail-thin, almost emaciated. Yet it could only detract from their beauty up close, from a distance they were still alluring. The Veela captured last year had been brutally abused as sex slaves in the tallest pointed tower on Malfoy Manor. All of them were Beaubaton student alumni, their ages ranging from their twenties to forty-something.

Within seconds a sigh of pure contentment issued from most of the crowd. It was the men, becoming entranced by the Veela's beauty.

Out of nowhere another individual came pattering out into the front of the stage, a dark-haired girl of eleven, her shoulder-length hair in natural curly ringlets. It was Desiree Dolohov who had been one of the kids from the nursery Draco played the prank on. She seemed to come out of nowhere, yet it was because she had sneaked backstage before.

She stood in front of Narcissa, almost reaching Narcissca's chin, and complemented Narcissa's fair beauty. The little girl Desiree was quite the ham what with taking up the rest of Narcissa's spotlight.

The mournful tone of the music issuing from the organ pipes behind the stage started to change, the music's beat steadily growing faster.

The Veela began to dance around their circle of Narcissa, moving their bodies like snake seductors, as they sang a light, carefree whisper of nothings. Their narrow hips writhed in the see-through white robes, matching Narcissa's costume. The feathered slippered feet of the Veela jutted out and gradually contorted their bodies outward away from Narcissa, who danced in her own circle, an accomplished dancer. Yet Narcissa did not need to train the Veela before. For tonight they had been kept like chattel inside the cages until the time came for them to perform.

As they contorted outward, the Veela seemed to signal to the men somehow and the men were now letting their wild desires show, under the Veela's enchantment. Most of them were yelling for the Veela in desperation, all inhibitions lost. Except Voldemort and Lucius and Snape. Lucius also kept hitting Draco, making him to stop looking at the Veela, stopping just before Draco could be entranced each time, by smacking the back of his body with the pimp cane.

As if a fan was blowing, the Veelas' silver blonde hair was out flowing around their heart-shaped faces. For this was part of their magic and allure. The Veela dance flowed like water, but compared to Narcissa dancing in circles in the center with Desiree Dolohov following her like a ring-around-the-rosy circle, the Veela were but the lily pads of a placid pond.

Now the beat of the song was growing to a much faster rate and the Veela picked up momentum, their robes swirling faster, and their crystal jeweled fingers flashed like a wand fetish. Their bracelet nipple clamps glittering as well, in which Desiree who was flat-chested was not wearing any jewelry. She did not need boob bracelets as she did not have a cleavage, yet her girlish chest was exposed in the costume. The wrists turned of the Veela and Narcissa flipping her hands back, all the fingers flashing like a wand fetish.

The Veela continued to swirl faster and faster until they were nearly an unseen whirl, it was all part of their magical ability, which was dancing a type of dervish dance. Narcissa and Desiree (who resembled a miniature Bellatrix) could not keep up in time to the music that was the Veela's magical dance.

It seemed like all the men were in blissfully blank, mindless dazes. The ringed diamond fingers (except for thumbs) continued to flash, the boobs sticking out in the bracelet clamps and all the robes swirling. The men's response of catcalling and whistling. But the irony of the entire dance was that the three most powerful men in the room were not aroused. Lucius looked jealous and furious at all the men who were not admiring his wife. Snape a look of deep disgust upon him (he was secretely longing for Lily), and Voldemort only showing an interest in Narcissa that constantly varied between frightening intensity and impatient boredom. None of the three wished to notice the Veela, yet the hundreds of other wizards were enamored. The women just watched normally, or tried to distract their lovers.

The Snatchers, meanwhile stood with legs wide apart, looking harsh and severe. The "S" on their chests gleaming like snakes. Scabior, the Chief Snatcher kept going over to them and whispering censures. He was reminding them they were granted their own "fun, amusing entertainment" right afterward.

The Snatchers complied, remaining standing tall in high-boots, in the yellow and black uniform, with belts tight around their robes, and the "S" gleaming on the chests. Snatchers standing in the aisles and Snatchers standing on the deserted alcoves high above, all served as security guards against a possible riot.

And Voldemort sat at a throne made of plain gold, his long-fingered hands curled around the arm-rests, watching the dance with rapt attention, his red-eyed gaze directed with an intensity, a conscientious awareness about him concerning his people. Yet he kept glancing around, wanting this night to be over and to have Narcissa for himself.

And then there was Fenrir Greyback, the anomoly, neither a true "Snatcher" and neither a true "Death Eater", but only the ostracized outcast. He hid in the last row of seats on the dance floor. Greyback was nodding off, lulled by the Veelas singing and dancing. His ceremonial robes were opened, and his dick was filling out with pre-cum liquid, having a wet dream, as he murmured moans of desires.

The Veela blanketed Narcissa in their veils, until she was unseen. And suddenly the Veela, despite deprived of wands lifted their hands up and Narcissa was levitated off the stage. She landed gently, ten feet below the stage, onto the floor.

The mournful music was starting again. Narcissa was in the center of the aisle, now. She ran the long trek in her feathered slippered feet and the boob bracelets with the crystal headdress band gleaming. Finally she got to the half-way point down the aisle. This was exactly how she had been instructed to do it.

She presented herself to Voldemort before his gold throne, throwing herself at him. Then she bowed her face touching the glass floor, hands and knees touching the surface of it as well. She humbly kissed the top of the Dark Lord's boots.

Voldemort looked simply thrilled. "I own you…," he hissed at her low and dangerous.

And Narcissa turned her head to her left and looked at Snape beseechingly, as he was sitting to Voldemort's right a few feet away at the end of the front row. One large tear like a precious diamond dropped, plunking off her narrow face. Snape saw her tear of anguish, and he looked at her, with all the deepness and fullness of his soul he could conure. But then, finally he turned his head away in disgust, pretending he had not seen the pitiful plea.

Now that is was over, the Veela still on the stage were motionless in a pose, covering themselves behind their veils. The crowd went wild. Desiree Dolohov, meanwhile climbed down the staircase, on the side of the stage to join in with the crowd. The clapping started, getting louder and louder. Voldemort looked around a little, with an impatience air about him, for he wanted the "Festival of the Pure-bloods" to be ended. He looked around at his Death Eaters in the front and then reluctantly clapped.

Once the clapping had ceased, the crowd was going wild, still dancing and singing and cheering and whistling appreciatively. Apparently, they had enjoyed the party and were still enjoying it. The music from the organ pipes took up, a drum beat beginning and then a new ancient tune oscillated rapidly. It seemed all was lost in their euphoric, yet totally immoral joy. They had no conscience left, except one for pleasure. Yet it was a dangerous conscious awareness that the crowd contained in themselves. The fire from the crowd did not seem possible to extinguish.

Note: One more scene is left for this chapter and for this ballroom-theater scene...and then we will be close to scene of Voldemort/Narcissa going to bed!! Really exciting.


	47. Astronomy Domine 4

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

**Continuation and final installment of….**

Chapter Twelve: Astronomy Domine

Narcissa shuffled away from Voldemort's throne in the white feather slippers, trying to get herself as far as she could from him. She tried her best to slip into the dim shadows, but suddenly the lights were turned on. The twisted torches lit with Gabruthian fire came on to full intensity and everything was visible as if daytime.

Above the scene, the celestial map of the sky disappeared replaced by a new sight. In the center of the dome was Merlin, representing life and death fused into one, his hand outstretched above, light pouring from it. He represented a force to Wizards or the "source" a power equivalent to a human god, but something more. Merlin who was like the Wizards' version of Jesus was complimented by the female Morgana behind him, kind of like the Wizard's version of a Virgin Mary. The entire ceiling depicted a mythical tale of the afterlife, in which death is transcended. It was their version of something almost like a religion, yet the ones following Voldemort had forgotten long ago about their belief in "the source" replaced with belief in their master.

Narcissa for once in her life wanted to be a nameless nobody in the crowd for she had never known such humility as what the evening had brought her.

But then she noticed several imposing figures wearing black from several yards coming toward her. She sensed that they wanted to speak to her, and she tried to disappear within the crowd, but then she thought they were determined to confront her, and she would make it worse by going towards more people.

She ran over to the only way out, near the cathedral-sized hall, passing through the tunnel below the stage. Within moments all of the dark figures followed her like bees to honey. It was very difficult to hide in outrageously obscene dressrobes.

They came closer to her and she could now clearly make out each of them. She did not know whether to be relieved or not that Bellatrix was not a part of them.

Within seconds, they were surrounding her. Narcissa looked ill as she watched Pettigrew practically wet himself with laughter, a laughter quite out of touch with reality.

"You don't know what your laughing at, do you?! Dirty, untrustworthy prat….Look at me and answer me, Wormtail!" And Narcissa tried hard to ignore the other Death Eaters, who were all looking at her as she spoke.

"He's just living up to that image of you dancing with the whore slaves!," said Alecto Carrow, beaming with merriment.

"Yes, I am going to fix that in my memory forever: Lucius Malfoy's wife, forced to submit herself to the Dark Lord, protstrated at his throne…," said Nott, the elderly widowed Death Eater, his voice nastier than ever.

Wormtail continued to nod and laugh stupidly, mindlessly going along with Narcissa being made the brunt of the jokes.

"Then again, you're doing your husband the real service, are you not? Maybe once you've satisfied him enough, all of Lucius's blunders will be forgotten?" said Yaxley.

Narcissa's face went red with shame, at the fact that they all knew about it because of the incident with Greyback. But at least they stopped laughing at the idea of Narcissa having sex with the Dark Lord.

Yaxley looked around a little nervously, afraid he would find Voldemort. "You know…I wonder how you make up to Lucius? Perhaps that could give you some ideas on how you'll handle him. Or probably he'll make you beg for mercy!"

Narcissa whispered, "I do not stoop low to beg Lucius or anybody, not even-even…. Neither of them will be getting any of that from me!"

The Carrows started to chuckle again, and Thorfinn Rowle responded with a wide smile.

"What is going on here Cissy?," suddenly said a high-pitched woman, emerging into the dark tunnel that was between the ballroom-theater and the hall.

"You know exactly what Bella! Mocking me about being forced to serve him sexually!," said Naricissa outright in her temper.

"Nonsense. Nonsense 'Cissy! Surely they aren't mocking you. They wouldn't dare. It is an honor for him to want you. Everyone knows I want nothing more than for him to be served well."

Everybody burst out laughing to Bellatrix's quarrelsome attitude, while Narcissa remained without confidence thinking how they were all insulting her.

"You know I have to say," said Rodolphus (Bellatrix's husband), "That dance made the others desire you even less than Veela, Narcissa. And you Bellatrix - why the men desire you even less than the Veela as well. Wanted even less than the Half-breeds or the Veela creatures!"

"Shut-up, Rodolphus. You don't know what you're talking about!" said Bellatrix revulsion on her face. But suddenly she directed all the anger at her sister, as if blaming it to be her fault.

But before Bellatrix could turn on Narcissa, Narcissa ran away, brushing past the huge form of Rowle and Nott standing next to each other. She went bent doubled as if in pain, probably half-sobbing as she ran to find privacy before her inevitable liason with Voldemort.

Rodolphus did not even look at Bellatrix, but murmured, "Pierotom Locomotor."

Suddenly the statue separating the ballroom-theater from the cathedral-sized hall was moving. The naked witch and wizard began to have vanilla sex, whilst standing. As the dick of the wizard penetrated the witch, it made a horrible grinding noise as unpleasant as chalk scraping a blackboard, but much, much louder.

Bellatrix looked over her shoulder to see her sister fleeing the scene, running. But Bellatrix just turned away and went back into the ballroom-theater. Immediately, she naturally gravitated over to Voldemort.

At almost the same time the Snatchers were getting what Scabior had promised them (their chance at "fun and amusing time" after the dance as Scabior had called it). Moments ago some of the Snatchers had ripped apart the Veela's veils, thus removing the clothed wall that had made them unviewable. Now they were to say the least, sexually maiming the Veelas.

One of the Snatchers was Stan Shunpike. He was not taking part in it, but his smooth, mid-twenties face watched eagerly as Snatchers stripped the Veelas of their see-through silk-white costumes magically. Their beautifully sculupted, yet slightly emaciated bodies were fully on display now. What Stan remembered most of all was the first time he had seen a Veela woman at the Quidditch World Cup. He now tipped the chair he was lounging in back, his feet propped up, eyes sparkling and the pupils in them dilating, wanting to have one of the Veelas for himself. Despite his alive eyes, there was still a loss of awareness in him, Stan's smooth wrinkle-less face as blank as slate, which was because of the Imperius Curse placed on him.

Stan was smoking a plain muggle cigarette, leisurely, taking in large puffs of the smoke. But suddenly he threw the cigarette butt on the ground. He stood up with a start, coming off his chair hard, and at the same time threw the cigarette onto the beautiful Unbreakable glass floor. He rose, and immediately stamped out the cigarette, but left the litter as if it was the most normal thing to do. He really did not know what to think of this place, hardly aware he was at a Pure-blood's manor house anyway, what with his below average intelligence and Imperiused mind.

"Hey, Stan come over and join in….," another young Snatcher motioned to him up on the stage, where about a dozen of the Snatchers were horsing around, with many people watching.

Stan traipsed confidently down the room, and then went up the short flight of steps, and walked across the stage, his eyes watching the Veela all the time with an innocent sort of look.

"What happened to your friend Ernie Prang, Stan?," asked one of the Snatchers who did not know much about him.

"Last year, when I worked running the Knight bus, he was killed. Dunno where or how it happened," said Stan and he shrugged his shoulders.

"But who cares I quit that job. This is much better!," said Stan, and he clapped his hands together excitedly as he watched the five Veela.

He glanced and saw a most alarming sight. One of the Veelas was completely bound in ropes in the diaper position, with a Snatcher above, his black and yellow uniform unbelted, as he mercilessly penetrated the crying woman.

Another had her anus rammed through a pole on the side of the stage, it looked terribly painful and resembled the sex toy called a butt plug. A few of the Snatchers hovered shamelessly over the Veela, as they took turns shoving themselves into her raised up vaginal canal, at the top of the pole. The poor Veela slave was restrained like it was a stake, her head layed down against the pole with her arms jutting back, whilst her lower body was raised upward from being held by the ass in this position, her feet jutting outward.

The other three naked Veela meanwhile, were dancing, going up and down the larger poles, located in front of the Veela with her ass rammed in the broken pole. The crowd of mostly men, including Death Eaters who were too socially conscious to take part in this type of public sex watched below cheering and waving delightedly.

One of Stan's apparent friends waved his wand, and conjured a rickety chair. "Hey, one of the ladies will give lap dances. How about it, Stan? You can have the first go!"

"Thanks," said Stan, and he rapidly went to sit in the chair, smiling. One of the Veela, so used to all of it by now, saw her opportunity and ran over to Stan, and she whirled wildy just over Stan's knees. Stan shoved her pussy into his lap, against his balls through the uniform, as she moved ceaselessly, and Stan ran his rough hands over her flowing silver blonde hair, which whirled like a fan again. "Oh, this is like heaven!," Stan moaned appreciately as he squeezed the Veela's practically fleshless thighs.

Someone from below the stage, ten feet below mumbled, "Where's mine? I have rewards from the Dark Lord you know. I get my lap dance!"

All the men down below, who had been ogling the slaves glared at Fenrir Greyback at once. He was still in his red-feathered vulture form with feathers sticking out of the crown of his head, and the ceremonial robes completely ripped at the chest. The bottom of the robes were also opened, exposing his privates, for he had not worn undergarments.

"There she is! The one woman I dreamed of!" and Greyback ran like a sprint and jumped up, and with his enormous strength managed to climb onto the stage.

Greyback at least did not bother the other Veela, who had been going on the poles, and were now returning to dance in their enchanted, blue lit cages with white stars etched on them.

He went, cutting in line at the Veela, who was rammed into the pole, and began to put his hands on the woman with crazy delight.

"My lover. Ah, the most beautiful woman, she is a queen, I heard."

"These are slaves," retorted one of the Snatchers who had been knocked out of the line waiting for his turn, "The so-called Queen was that Malfoy woman, Greyback!"

"Oh yeah…," said Greyback, and suddenly remembering Narcissa, he laughed heartily to himself about her fate.

"It's not your chance yet Greyback, but here," another of the men said. He waved his wand and Greyback's vulture form finally disappeared.

Greyback did not offer his thanks, but nodded to the one who had removed it for him.

And Voldemort was some distance away with a small group at his attendance, including Scabior, Lucius Malfoy, Draco, and Bellatrix.

Voldemort looked around the room, scanning it for two things. His red eyes drifted around the fully-lit room until he surmised Narcissa was not present, for he had already looked several times in the last few minutes. He hoped she was compliant enough to be waiting in his master bedchamber for him, eager to be an easy, obedient woman.

Voldemort finally spoke his thoughts aloud for the second thing, "This "Festival of the Pure-Bloods is over," he said dryly. "Lucius, you are to tell the last of the guests to leave your home. Do it now."

Lucius almost smiled. It was the best order he had heard from his master in awhile. "Yes, My lord," said Lucius and he hurried away to start screaming at people that the party was over.

"Scabior, you must tell the Snatchers to get off the property now too," said Voldemort calmly, without even so much as glancing at the wizard.

Scabior assented and went towards the stage where the Veelas were being floated back to hide behind the stage until they returned to their real prison, the tower.

A moment later, and the girl who had volunteered to dance with Narcissa and the Veelas was daring to approach Voldemort's group. It seemed she had some sort of agenda, in fact she had made a dare that she would speak to Voldemort before the party was over.

"Good evening, sir!," she said loudly to Voldemort. It seemed he had not heard or actually he thought that the greeting was not addressed to him.

"Good evening, sir!," Desiree Dolohov repeated loudly.

Bellatrix looked down, her spidery lashes curving and she simpered with newfound delight at Desiree, who looked much like herself had at eleven, "Oh, what a charming girl!" she said enthused, as she tried to bite back laughter at what Desiree had called Voldemort.

Voldemort finally realized there was a small person, who had dared to address him like that standing less them a yard away from him, just much further down, in the middle of his chest where he had not spotted her, for he had not looked. His nostrils flared as he looked down at the shirtless girl, with the short curly black hair and dark brown eyes, standing barefoot.

Nervously, Desiree curtsied again, trying to ignore her exposed chest, but she did not think that would bother Voldemort.

"What?! Did a child – that child address me as a 'sir'?!," Voldemort almost shrieked and he looked down at the innocent eleven-year-old with fury.

Desiree looked up into Voldemort's face, and then looked away suddenly frightened. She shot a glance at Bellatrix and beamed adoringly at her instead.

"Still a charming girl," said Bellatrix, for once conveniently preventing a confrontation. "You must remember to address him as a lord, girl. The Dark Lord is never called 'sir'!," she shrilled insanely repulsed at the thought.

"Indeed," said Snape coolly, appearing out of nowhere a drink in hand, and he looked curiously at the child.

"S-sorry!," and Desiree looked only more frightened. In her fear she could not catch her tongue, she stammered, "But "sir" means a man? You a-are a-a man?, right?" she stammered, craning her neck, her hands on the back of her elbow's which were jutting out, an unconscious nervous gesture.

Voldemort expelled a furious breath, and opened his mouth to speak. But Desiree seemed to realize her mistake and she tried to clear it up, speaking first, "Thank-you for the party…Lord," and she curtsied again.

Voldemort seemed to forget about her and looked the other way. He was thinking in his head it was quite unnessary for him to make issue of a pathetic, silly girl anyway.

Desiree still gazed at Voldemort in mixtures of shock and shame, as she wondered what he was. For the first time she was confused at what made a man into a man, because clearly the Dark Lord was something different than a man, something more than human, alien to her. But what? She did not understand, he only mystified her.

But suddenly Desiree jumped in terror, as she felt someone behind her, grab her bottom, cupping the end of it in one hand and sneer, "You naughty, naughty, girl!"

"Ah, but incredibly charming, I daresay, Antonin," said Bellatrix, and she smiled faintly at Desiree.

"No. A naughty little thing she is. Fast turning into a seducing cunt."

Desiree turned around at once, with terror in her eyes. To see her grandfather, Antonin Dolohov towering over her. His face was long, pale and twisted with fury. Desiree knew all too well from that look, what was going to happen to her.

"And you, Bellatrix. You tell your sister she should have kept this little girl – my child out of that spectacle!"

Bellatrix opened her mouth, furious. "I don't think Narcissa has any responsibility for it. You should have been watching where... Desiree went off to do."

"I don't need to hear anything from you stupid, full-grown slut, just like your sister but of the darker type of looker. We don't want her treated like the scum of the earth, as Mrs. Malfoy gets, or worse made into another Veela slave."

"Watch your mouth, Antonin Dolohov. Do you know whom you're talkingto?!"

Dolohov didn't listen, but muttered something about the Malfoys being a race of whores that he didn't want the Dolohovs to intermarry with anymore. He dragged Desiree away, to one of the rows of the rows of comfortable chairs, only about ten feet away.

What was obviously Desiree's mother came over and said surprisingly serene, "I hope you understand the consequences of your actions, Desiree. Under the new order, you have made us look bad."

"Yes, my little grandaughter…Junior Slut…," said Dolohov, and with a hand he raised Desiree's chin, getting her to look at him at eye-level. At the word, "slut" which she knew was sexual, she unconsciously licked her lips in response. It was too bad she did for it seemed to only anger Dolohov further, as he burst, "I shall whip your bum, until it's raw meat."

He grabbed her arm, and swaggered with Desiree's arm in his hand over to another chair nearby, with the mother following reluctantly, arms folded over her chest.

He turned Desiree over, until she was bent over the chair's back. Her face was blank and calm because she was used to what she was getting. Dolohov pulled down the transparent tight skirt, exposing her rump, which already had small red marks on it, as well as on her backside.

Dolohov took a small whip from one of his pockets of his ceremonial uniform, his face still furious.

He began to apply the lashings to her small bottom and also her backside. The mother stood facing it, watching. Within a minute, Desiree was wailing with each snapping blow, "Mother!…Mother!...Mother!"

The mother just stood there, half her mind justifying what her father-in-law was doing to her daughter. She crossed her arms looking concerned but doing nothing. Desiree did not have a father anymore. Her father, who had also been a Death Eater had died before she was born.

As she continued to wail in agony, the mother began to cover her mouth in horror. Bellatrix got a glance at Desiree from a short distance, but merely shrugged like she was immune to the little girl's suffering. She did not seem to care, and it was a mark of the reality that she didn't have children.

And nobody else paid attention to it, as people walked swiftly by, distracted by their objective to leave the manor. Finally the Death Eater was finished whipping his grandaughter as mercilessly as he had ever done to her. Desiree Dolohov had slipped off the chair during the process and was huddling on the floor, her bottom and back gushing short streams of blood, as she tried to grasp for something, clutching her back.

She was already kneeling her head bowed to the floor, hiding her face. But Dolohov wasn't finished imparting his cruel lesson. He turned himself around to face Desiree's face, and he knelt on the floor, as he put away the whip he kept only to use on her back in his robes.

He tusseled at her the top of her curly head, and forced her face upward. "You see him – one of the important Death Eaters, better than me!….That man is going to be your headmaster…he'll recognize you when he sees you again! You've disgraced the name of Dolohov!," he seethed.

And Desiree screamed with ever greater terrror as Dolohov raised his wand at her. And suddenly her face was hexed so that it was impossible for anyone to easily recognize her for the rest of the night. With her backside gushing blood, naked, screaming, and her face hexed, Dolohov left his granddaughter, and forcing her mother to follow him out of the manor saying she'll fend for herself tonight and that Desiree was not a Dolohov at the moment.

And meanwhile, Voldemort left the ballroom-theater for good, alone and looking dignified but clearly in an exasperated huff of irritation. As all this went on, people slowly leaving, the music of the organ pipes picked up for the final score of the night, and the crowd continued to roar their appreciation as they departed. The party had clearly been thoroughly enjoyed. Lucius Malfoy's two Doberman dogs were running in circles around and around the oval-shaped room.

Note: We have one to three updates until the great sex scene between LV and Narcissa. I do feel sorry for Desiree, but my imagination just ran with it and I was planning that little event all along.


	48. Don't Leave Me Now

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

**Warning: You might not want to read if you are eating or have just eaten. It all depends on how squeamish you are.**

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now  


Fenrir Greyback marched alone out of the deserted ballroom-theater and into the cathedral-sized hall, passing under the now moving statue of the naked witch and wizard, with the stone snake entwined at their torsos. There certainly was not much if any penetration going on between the animated statues anymore, although the insipid grinding continued, as it was the consciousless statues making the grinding noise from their pelvis's banging each other.

As Greyback strode out of the long hall, he came near the end and he fumbled inside his disheveled robes, which were giving him a slovenly appearance. Out of his pockets came one of the many pieces of human flesh he had stored. It was some of the booty he had gotten as his reward for capturing all the muggles for the mass executions.

Outside the hall near the first landing of the main staircase was a small fountain with a gargoyle perched on the edge of it's basin. But instead of water pouring out of the fanged mouth of the gargoyle, wine flowed from it endlessly. Apparently, someone had turned the water to wine during the party, as it was certainly feasible magic.

Greyback spotted the wine, and he went over to the gargoyle fountain, and with his hand that was not holding the flesh, he took out his short wand. He conjured a plain goblet, and suddenly he noticed a house-elf standing in front of the fountain, standing in front, completely listless and dull, a platter resting on the elf's flat head balancing between the large floppy ears.

First Greyback grabbed some of the cheeses on the platter resting on the top of the house-elf's head. He then bent over the fountain, his hairy exposed chest, as it was shirtless skimmed the red-coloured wine. He dipped his goblet into the basin and out came a fresh cup of wine for himself. He set the goblet in the house-elfs tiny hands, and then took the flesh and cheese.

The piece of flesh was literally a foot that had once been a living muggle's foot. Greyback saw the wet blood still oozing on the gashes of the foot, and his filthy hands wrapped it in the cheeses, and he folded the back of the foot over. It now resembled a hot dog with thick wedges of cheese strung in the muddle and blood drizzling onto the cheeses like ketchup.

Greyback took the goblet back from the elf and just stood at the top of the main staircase, washing down the flesh with the red wine. He was rabid in his desire to finish his concocted sandwich of human skin and dried flesh, and he poured more of the wine on the foot, and finished snacking on it, licking his fingers and smacking his lips contentedly, where at the corners of his mouth were sores. He then patted his surprisingly lean stomach.

He took out another piece of flesh, this time a liver and at the same time dipped his goblet back into the fountain.

Lucius was pausing at the staircase, staring up and down the wall, from all the way up to the ceiling in crestfallen shock. He just couldn't believe his eyes. The hundreds of venerable busts of the Malfoy lineage, which lined the main staircase all the way near to the ceiling were virtually all destroyed. Some of the busts were impossible to restore, what with shards of the remnants, laying broken up, in pieces on the stairs. Other busts had markers of color all over them, vandalized with silly inscriptions written on them, very much like muggle graffiti.

A skinny teenage boy suddenly crept up the stairs, his wand raised and a mischievous look on his face. Lucius immediately assumed he was the culprit, at least one of them who had defaced the venerable busts, the stone heads of hundreds of years of Malfoys.

Lucius became electrified with rage, his father's old wand was wrenched from his pimp cane, and his blonde hair went flying out behind him. He ran down the steps at the boy. "Get out! Get out of my house!" he roared, aiming the wand.

The boy knew it would be wise to flee and he did so, running for the huge doors leading to the steps, heading to the peace of the gravel driveway outside.

Lucius then went stumbling back up the stairs, jamming the pathetic new wand back into his cane, that wasn't even going to work right for him. He had been afraid to use a powerful curse on the boy, thinking it could backfire.

As he came to the top of the stairs, he saw the back of a gray shaggy head. Lucius knew it was Fenrir Greyback, noticing his head as returned to normal no longer in that vulture form. Lucius managed to smile to himself at the thought of his son who had been the one to so cleverly transfigure the werewolf.

Greyback was still nibbling on pieces of flesh as he stood in front of the gargoyle fountain of water turned into wine, and there was also still present the listless and fatigued elf standing also by the fountain, the cheese platter resting on it's flat elf head.

Greyback turned to hear someone sliding across the floor, it was Lucius in his boots, which were making squeaking sounds. For the floor in front of the top of main staircase was now littered with blood and pieces of Greyback's bounty he had gotten. Parched pieces of flesh and little streams of blood lay all over the floor around the fountain. Apparently, he had been dumping out his pockets, which were magically increased in size to hold more.

"This is disgusting. My elves had better clean this tomorrow. You did this, didn't you Greyback?," snarled Lucius.

Greyback did not answer, but dropped the goblet into the fountain and then stooped on the floor, picking up some of the scruples and restuffing into his ripped uniform.

"What? It's just some delicious meats for the road…..Well, gotta be home getting…," slurred Greyback, and in his loping gait he went for the stairs.

"What do you call your place of residence, Greyback? How's life treating you in your den?," Lucius asked with a pompous purr, still holding onto the last shreds of his aristocratic pride.

Greyback stopped on the third step, as he descended the wide stairs, and he turned around. "I've been taking up wizard dwellings Mr. Malfoy. For one thing, it's a much better place to position yourself to get a bite or two every night!"

And Greyback turned away and went into the night, to which only an hour or so remained until the first signs of daybreak would commence.

"Pilosto! Come with me to the master bedchamber, I want to make sure he isn't with Narcissa yet!," ordered Lucius. And the elf with the cheese platter, followed his master silently. Lucius spying the platter on his head complained, "God damnit. The party is over, moron." Lucius knocked the cheese platter off the elf's head and it went spiraling down all the way down the stairs from Lucius's raging blow.

Note: The next scene...has an interesting little repercussion for the whole story.


	49. Don't Leave Me Now 2

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

**Continuation of….**

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now  


A couple of floors above on the fourth floor was where the master bedroom is located. Bellatrix was ascending the stairs with Draco in her wake tagging along reluctantly with a glum look.

"What exactly is it that you want from me Aunt Bellatrix?," asked Draco with an edge of irritation in his voice, he wasn't sure he was going to be willing to do whatever it was.

Bellatrix approached the master bedroom, and opened the doorway, and turned her black curly head left and right, checking to be sure nobody was in the room.

"Good…Draco come down the corridors with me. We must be as far from the master bedchamber as possible."

"Okay," assented Draco, and his white-blonde head in the lime green and gold edge dressrobes followed her.

Bellatrix tapped her fingers on her wand nervously, as her heavily lidded eyes rested on her nephew once they were at a far enough distance from the bedchamber.

"Now, Draco…here is what I want you to do….," she said, pausing.

"You must be quick at it Draco or it might fail, and if it does, you will have every reason to be sorry for yourself."

"What do you mean? Get to the point!," yelped Draco.

"Here," said Bellatrix and she took from her robes a canister filled with a dark purple liquid. It was the very same canister of liquid Voldemort had seen just before they had traveled with floo powder to the ministry on the morning of the coup. The night before the coup, Bellatrix had emerged from the apoethecary in the Malfoy's gardens because she had finished brewing the potion in there.

"What's this potion for? Or is it poison? Who is meant for?," said Draco, and there was definite suspicion in his tone now.

"I want you to leave it on the bureau in front of the mirror, right where she keeps her jewelry. It's for your mother to drink, Draco," said Bellatrix calm and clear in her manner.

"Why? This better not be a poison-"

"Excuse me? Do you think I would poison my own sister? I would never poison my sister. Are you accusing me Draco?"

Draco hesitated and then lied, "No…" But the truth was he wouldn't put anything past the cruelty he knew his aunt was capable of.

"Besides – Cissy has been having a lot of nightmares lately. Did you know that, Draco? This simple little tonic should calm her down."

"I'm not doing anything, until you tell me what it is in there!," said Draco indignantly.

"Alright, Draco…I'll tell you. This is a dreamless sleep potion. That's all there is to it. Now don't tell anyone about it. Not even the Dark Lord," said Bellatrix in a hushed whisper.

Draco seemed to relax a bit at these words. "I still don't want to put it in there for you. Do it yourself, if it's so important my mother drinks it. And I know why you really want her to have it…You don't have to lie through your teeth for me. I'm not a fool! "

Bellatrix sputtered at this refusal, her face turning red with anger, a jealous rage. She would not let her sister get to consciously handle Voldemort's sexual appetite. That honor was meant for her and designated only for her.

"Who taught you Occlumency, Draco? Who taught you Occlumency last year? Remember how you came whining to me that the Dark Lord had ordered you to do something you couldn't?"

"Yeah…," said Draco dully.

"Well, then, it's high time you returned the favour to me Draco!," said Bellatrix, laying the guilt trip onto her nephew further.

"And I could be punished by the Dark Lord, severely for interfering with his plans for your mother, Draco…." Bellatrix paused then added testily, "You know your mother is horrified to have to serve him in bed…..Why can't you help her and place the potion there to soothe her worries?"

"Alright…But I can wait in there for her to come in, so I can tell her what it's for!"

"NO!," Bellatrix burst out selfishly. "The plan doesn't work that way. You do that and she will find out it was I who laid the potion in there. And he will somehow know it! Just leave it, I know she'll recognize it as a dreamless sleep potion and she'll want to take it to soothe her apprehensions. "

"Besides – you probably don't even know this Draco…but the Dark Lord has ordered that if Narcissa does not comply with his wishes to have her he is not allowing you to return to school. Did you know that?"

Draco's face fell with shock and disappointment.

"Ah, I see that you did not know it….Well, you better hurry up and take this potion to leave for your mother, Draco."

"Fine, I will then!," said Draco and he took the glass canister from Bellatrix's cold hands.

Draco walked down the hall towards the master bedchamber, when Bellatrix suddenly grabbed him from behind, pulling on his robes, she whispered breathily in his ear, "Make sure you conjure a goblet for it…Don't leave the canister!"

For Bellatrix was partially afraid Voldemort would see the empty cannister later and deduce that it was Bellatrix. This is because the morning before the coup he had seen the strange potion and had wondered what it was.

A minute later, Draco emerged from the master bedrooom empty canister in hand, "Did the operation run smooth then? It was easy right?"

"Yes, the potion is sitting there waiting for her to drink," Draco said unenthusiastically and he sighed discontentedly.

A few minutes later Lucius arrived in the master bedroom with the house-elf Pilosto still trailing his heels.

"Pilosto leave me. And tell Narcissa, that at the first chance I get…I'm going to break her neck!"

"Yes, master," said the elf. It was impossible to tell whether Lucius's tone was serious or not, it easily could have been, but the elf under the magical contract would have to abide and thus do all he could to relay the message to Narcissa.

And Pilosto disappeared up the dumb-waiter's hole in the wall.

Now that he was alone, Lucius glanced at himself in the mirror, frowning. His image and his life was believed by him to be ruined now.

He glanced down at the bureau and saw a goblet filled with purple liquid to the brim.

Thinking it to be more wine, Lucius snatched it off the table. He took one gigantic gulp and then another. Unfortunately, dreamless sleep potions have no taste or strange scent to them.

But finally, after drinking half of the goblet, Lucius realized it wasn't normal wine. Instinctively, he dropped the goblet, and the rest of the potion went spilling onto the table of the bureau.

Lucius suddenly felt very tired, he went several paces, and then dropped backwards on the plush black covers of the four-poster bed. And within seconds, Lucius's mind and thoughts was out like a light.

Note: The next scene, Voldemort and Narcissa do it. Yay. It is going to be disgusting. Not like the footdog, as there is no cannibalism. But still gross.


	50. Don't Leave Me Now 3

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

Continuation of….

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now

Narcissa who had been in the bathroom entered the master bedroom a few minutes later. Looking down she went straight for the bureau, not needing to look up as she knew every foot of the space by heart. She did not see Lucius in the enormous bedchamber, as he was about twenty feet away.

She sat down, as if exhausted on the upholstered chair. She did not look in the mirror in front of her, but immediately saw on the tabletop a dark purple liquid, which luckily had not dripped off the surface It was the spilled contents of the dreamless-sleep potion, with the stone goblet laying there.

"Tergio!," Narcissa murmured and with her wand, she siphoned up the liquid.

She sighed and then felt a piercing pain in her middle. It was the bracelet nipple clamps. Narcissa's bejeweled hands went for them, and she started to unscrew each of the diamond bracelets from her breasts. As she did so, she saw to her horror that her B-Cup sized breasts now had large black bruises. They were shriveled up like two sundried grapefruits. Next, Narcissa took off the rest of the jewlery, the many identical diamond rings on her fingers.

Next, Narcissa grabbed the small bowl, in which water was left in a pitcher by a house-elf. She poured some of it into the bowl with runes etched on it, and then splashed the water on her face several times. The ridiculous silver make-up, silver blush, eyeshadow and mascara disappeared, returning her to her normal appearance again.

Next, Narcissa siphoned away the dirty water and refilled the bowl. She soaked her hands in the bowl patiently, hoping to get rid of any dirt under her maniquered white nails.

"I feel so dirty," she said intentionally, looking at her reflection in the mirror, as if she was talking to somebody else.

Indeed she was. A spirit spoke from the mirror saying placidly, "Beautiful lady of the house. You are immaculate. You look clean and healthy."

Narcissa just shook her head, and removed her fingertips from the bowl. Then she took out a silver-plated brush. She began to brush her silver-blonde hair flecked with gray from stress, the bristles contracting against her hair, in which the bristles were made of fine unicorn hair.

As Narcissa did this, she tried to hum peacefully, imagining there was nothing to worry about with what she was ordered to do with Voldemort.

Suddenly her azure-blue eyes widened with dawning recognition. How could she have forgotten?

A figure dressed in black was standing behind her. It had a grey cloak and long fair hair, much like Narcissa's hair and a shriveled face, green tinged.

Before Narcissa could do anything, the most horribly piercing wail issued. It had been a banshee. The legend goes that a banshee will wail around a house if someone in the house is about to die. Until recently, Narcissa had never seen a banshee in her home before. Actually, it did not start until Voldemort started to live there. Narcissa did not know it, but this was because of Voldemort's fear of death and how death was now following all who were close to him.

The wailing went on for several seconds, and then the figure behind her was gone. Narcissa trembled with terror, wondering in her head that this may be a sign of her impending death. Perhaps the Dark Lord was going to kill her during his sexual domination of her body? She knew it was highly probable.

Narcissa did not scream, but she felt like it. She had been having a lot of nightmares lately, basically because she had been seeing a banshee near every night. Now she slumped in the chair in front of the bureau, inwardly screaming in her mind.

"You look radiant, dear," said the mirror.

In response, Narcissa curled her small hands into fists, and pressed them against the glass of the mirror, an agonized, stricken look on her sharp features. She felt like a prisoner in her body, she wished she could disappear. She did not want him to use her for sex.

Narcissa rose from the seat, to go towards the dresser, to get out of her costume. She seemed to steel herself a little then, gaining a little bit more calmness. She thought how she must change into something ghastly. For she need not stimulate Voldemort's sexual appetite any further, she was determined to be as defiant as possible.

But then the only entrance into the master bedchamber swung open with a soft thud. The Dark Lord was standing there, still clad in the kingly robes Lucius had leant him. Robes that came from the original founder of the Knights of Walpurgis hundreds of years ago (who was a Malfoy).

"Ah, Narcissa. My snake, Nagini is going to join us….," said Voldemort plaintively once the red eyes had roved over in her direction.

And after he spoke, the great snake came slithering soundlessly into the room, going over the splendid carpeting covering most of the polished wooden floor.

"Will that be an inconvenience, queen?," said Voldemort, an attempt at geniality.

Narcissa did not answer, but shook her head stiffly, almost imperceptible.

Meanwhile Nagini had found herself a comfortable corner and curled up, sleepily. And Narcissa still had not taken off the ridiculous erotic costume.

Voldemort seemed to be in a surprisingly charming mood. He brushed over to Narcissa, the great cope still flowing behind him. Acting concerned for Narcissa's welfare he said in a friendly rasp, "Can I arrange a house-elf to get you anything to eat or drink, my lady?" Although, very respectful, there was something mocking hidden underneath.

Narcissa pursed her lips with disgust, and she looked like she might vomit. Voldemort raised his head up a little higher and waited, until she answered in a low, but icy tone, "No…."

Voldemort's nostrils flared an instant later. "Get that lily-ass on the bed!," he commanded.

Narcissa did not answer, but complied. As she went towards the bed, and Voldemort moved to change out of his dressrobes, she spotted Lucius lying on his back, mouth opened slightly, with drool spilling out of it.

"Lucius! Lucius! Lucius!," she screamed in terror. "Oh. He's dead!," she shrilled thinking of the banshee, convinced of the meaining of it's appearance now. Narcissa remained rooted a few feet away from the bed, too scared to approach what she thought of as her husband's corpse.

Voldemort was on one knee, rapidly unlacing his tall, dragon-hide black boots. He rose, irate, and lookedto see that Lucius's frame was indeed on the bed.

Voldemort did not look concerned, but said lazily, "Go and feel if there's a pulse…I said move!"

Narcissa jumped in fright, and landed on the plush black covers. "Lucius, Lucius," she moaned in grief again.

She put her head to his heart, still acting in mourning.

Voldemort did not seem to register her emotional angst. He asked in a harsh factual query, "Well? Is he alive?"

"Yes, I can feel his heart beating into me," Narcissa said with a tenderness and contentment. Narcissa raised her head to look at Voldemort, who immediately went back to unlacing his boots.

"But you wouldn't have cared if he died. Lucius no longer matters to you," she whimpered. Narcissa was surprised at her speaking of her mind, and she put a hand to her mouth.

"Do not play games with me, Narcissa. I knew Lucius was probably alive all along, if only because he was a drunken menace by the time the celebration of my coup ceased. It looks to me he's past out from too much drink." In fact, it was true that Lucius had gotten drunk. Yet Voldemort had a funny feeling this all had something to do with Bellatrix, and he was going to find out exactly what it was sooner or later.

"Don't insult my husband," said Narcissa crying in a tiny voice. And she layed down on top of Lucius in the fetal position, burying her head in his chest. And partially she mourned for herself, knowing any moment now, Voldemort would have his hands on her to do whatever he liked. She hugged Lucius against herself, clinging not wanting to let go. She was still clad in the long see-through white negligee robe.

Narcissa did not so much as glance around as Voldemort changed. Taking off the elaborate dressrobes and sailing them over to the dresser with his wand. Then, as he had been occupying the master bedroom, he accioed over his nightwear. He stepped into a velvet black robe with tassels resting on the shoulder tops and other trimmings on it. The wizard nightwear had a hood behind it to serve like a nightcap.

Voldemort turned over to climb on the bed. There was plenty of room on the bed for all three of them, as it was even bigger than a king-size bed. Lucius was resting at the foot of it, with Narcissa still on top. This bed was the very one in which Narcissa's virginity had been taken.


	51. Don't Leave Me Now 4

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now

Voldemort pried Narcissa off of Lucius, yet for a second it seemed like Narcissa's fingers were not going to let go. But then she relented.

He sprawled out, sitting up on the bed, and then placed Narcissa across his legs, laying her thin frame prone on top of his legs, her face near his feet.

"Oh, please," Narcissa moaned. "Let me have dignity!"

"I think not, Narcissa. You see, you are in essence my slave. As is Lucius and all who live at headquarters. Currently you are in my sanctuary to be humiliated. Is this clear?"

"Yes…," said Narcissa, but she turned around to see what he was doing, as she lay straddled over his legs. As she made eye contact with him, she rolled her eyes.

He corrected her with a quiet, stern edge, "You say, "Yes, 'Master.' Or else, we begin with a full preview of your inevitable pain to come…"

Narcissa turned, craning her neck to see him again and said, "Yes, Master." It was said evenly without losing her aristocratic composure.

Narcissa stalled and waited anxiously for Voldemort to start. Finally, he was putting his hands on her silverly blonde hair running down her back. She spoke nervously, "My lord! I mean Master, may we turn off the lights and do this in the dark?"

Before Narcissa had finished speaking, she thought she already knew what the answer would be, and she felt herself sink further into his lap.

"No. No. Absolutely not!…Narcissa I shall tell you only once more: Continue to resist the agreement your husband made for I to take you to bed, and I'll have you confined in the tower with the Veelas. Where you may be a slave for Death Eaters instead, and that would be lasting for weeks on end."

Narcissa suddenly changed her attitude and said reluctantly, "I shall be perfectly obedient, my Lord, I mean Master. A good submissive, Master." Yet she did not feel like acting submissive, she was only saying it to please him.

And Voldemort raised his wand, (as he could never discard his best weapon not even for moments) out of the pocket of the velvet nightgown robes. Two statues guarded the bed, a witch and a wizard, each holding racks of candles in their stone hands, giving off an orange glow. Voldemort jabbed his wand at the candles, dimming the lights, but not extinguishing everything into the total darkness Narcissa wished for.

Then Voldemort, pulled his wand back behind him, to where he knew there was a mural. It was a painting of a forrest that made noises as soft background noise. Voldemort placed a silencing charm on it, ending the low twittering of birds and crickets with the running of a creek.

Voldemort returned his full attention on Narcissa's prone frame before him. He put his hands back on her back, stroking the strands of her hair lazily.

"Narcissa, I am not in the mood to Imperiuse tonight. You abide by my word, and I agree to allow your son to return to Hogwarts," it was said amelioratingly, as he was trying to relieve Narcissa's qualms.  
He continued to stroke, moving gradually down her back. "Afterall, your duty as little lady of the house is to have sex with me when I ask."

"Yes, Master," Narcissa muttered, she felt a little more willing to comply with him. "But m-master-," she was going to ask if he would use Crucio, but had hesitated, not wanting to give him the thought.

"Now I have murdered so many people throughout the years….Hundreds and hundreds of all kinds of men, women, children, and even those of the inferior species: the muggles. Did you know this Narcissa?"

"No-no Master. But I expected it, as I expect you are going to -"

"No," he interrupted. "I shall not kill you. That is a promise, I shall make Narcissa. Although I do so enjoy killing," he said with relish, "but it is quite fatal if I were to kill Lucius's pretty little witch whore, don't you think?"

"Whore? I'm his wife!," screamed Narcissa angrily. And then she sighed and said, "Yes, Master."

She remained waiting for whatever Voldemort was going to do, shaking. His stroking hands reached down to the small of her back, stroking the tips of her straight hair.

Narcissa drew in a hollow gasp, when she felt his hands on her buttocks. Voldemort began stroking them through the silk-white transparent robe.

"Such soft, such smooth," he hissed continually. He continued to rub his hands gently on her pert bum, and began massaging it. Voldemort wasn't interested in Narcissa's buttocks, however finely curved, rather he was getting a sensational experience from a mere object. He enjoyed in his hands the feel of the silky cloth.

For moments he continued to rub the cloth on her bottom, into his hands intoning repeatedly how soft and smooth it was, sounding like he was talking more to himself. Narcissa laid over him, her ass practically in Voldemort's face, as it was at the base of his stomach. She lay sprawled on top of his legs, her head at his long and narrow bare feet.

Narcissa couldn't help but moan a little. She felt guilt at how relaxing it was becoming for her, however involuntary the relaxation reaction was. If Lucius could see this! And yet, laying there, she did get to have a limited view of her unconscious husband. And as the Dark Lord continued playing around with Narcissa, she felt like an animal, some kind of pet of his. In boredom, Narcissa's ankles shook, and she lifted one leg up a bit.

This tiny movement seemed to take Voldemort out of his trance-like state. He noticed her slipper- clad feet and from it gained a sudden burst of inspiration. He put his hands on her foot and started picking at it. Out of the feather slipper, his nail plucked a long streamer of a white feather.

He put his hands back on her buttocks, clasping his hands firmly on the cheeks. In one swift motion, he pulled on her robe and it ripped down the back in two.

He took the feather again, and started tickling it against Narcissa's exposed bottom. Suddenly she felt his strong hands on her bottom again, pulling the cheeks apart and then something, she did not even know what it was being inserted into her anus. Voldemort fiddled with the feather for a minute or two, sewing it in under and over the tiny muscles of the anus.

Voldemort spoke teasingly, "Deliciously silly of me…."

Narcissa then felt the sphincter muscles of her anus contract. He was wrenching out the feather embedded in her anus, and in one painful burst of pressure, he wrenched it at once from her bottom. In a second Narcissa was screaming, "MASTER!"  
She continued a screaming shrill, it was like getting muggle stitches all pulled out of your skin at once.  
And the feather was pulled out her ass-hole, wrenched along with several little pieces of dark pubic hair.

Voldemort mockingly and harshly screeched, "Hrrgh!" And then he added with a terrible aggression, "Wonderful how you scream for me, without even orgasming, Narcissa!" It sounded very much like how Voldemort reacted when he touched Harry Potter's scar in the graveyard.

"…and look at this gunk I found between your crevices….Don't you wash yourself?"

And he held the dark pubic hair, with drops of blood out to Narcissa's face, hanging it over the tip of her nose, so that Narcissa almost thought it was a rat's tail, for the hanging hairs did resemble one. He dropped it in front of her face.

"Now…," Voldemort said gathering himself, and he grabbed Narcissa's legs, sitting up on his elbows and shoving her even closer to the narrow berth between his legs.

"I'm going to bang your dirty arse until it's throbbing at full throttle, and while I do so, you are to suck on my feet. I am ordering you suck I - Lord Voldemort's toes, and you will do it."

And suddenly she felt a horrible whoosh as something huge came inside her already tortured, bleeding buttocks. He shoved inside of her, and Narcissa could feel her pelvis humping against his legs at the same time, bouncing on his legs. And she was suddenly being screamed at, "Suck. Suck my feet for me or I will not allow Draco to return to school!"

And Narcissa seemed to comply at once, the tip of her tongue out, and reluctantly she started licking the Dark Lord's toes. At least there wasn't any dirt under them, and neither was there any moisture. She continued to lick and then desperately she sucked and slurped on the toes, as he banged inside of her, holding her at almost the wheel-barrow position.

Finally, he ended it, but before Narcissa could pause to breathe, he had pulled on her hair. "We're done with that phase. Wasn't it relaxing? It felt so good, Narcissa…,". was spoken with indulgent passion.

Narcissa removed her mouth from the big toe she was sucking on, in which she noticed Voldemort had an unusual distance between the big toe and his littler ones. She felt Voldemort's legs slide off of her, no longer was she laying on top of them. Narcissa sat up, kneeling, her own toes curling behind her, afraid and horrified to face him.

"Turn around…and face me," said the Dark Lord.

Narcissa did, with her hands still on her knees, and then she raised her head looking up at him to her side. Voldemort was there at the side of the bed, standing over it. Histrionically, he gestured pulling his arms down, and showing off his opened up robes, with an ugly smile plastered on the white snake-like face.

He then held his penis with both hands. "Look…I am giving you a rare glimpse, Narcissa. Big and powerful as it should be, isn't it?"

Narcissa did not answer but gaped in horrified shock as she looked. His dick was huge. Voldemort's penis was rapidly filling with blood, becoming erect as he handled it through the exposed folds of the robes. It was very, very long, ten inches, and thick in it's shape. Voldemort continued to stare down Narcissa, amused as he got some kind of boost in confidence at her witness to his bulging member.

Narcissa noticed he had no pubic hair at all. Not on his pelvis and not his chest either. And then she started looking at him noticing other strange peculiarities to his biology. For one thing, he had no belly-button, for his new body had not come out of a womb.

Voldemort peered down at her with a curious expression and suddenly there was a knowing glint in his red eyes. He had seen her thoughtful observations through Legilimency. "I was the icon of good looks, tall dark and handsome type as they call it. You as the skank you are would have thrown yourself at my feet, if you knew me then….But still, I favour this look much more."

And at that thought, how he liked his monstrous looks, he had an awful, gloatng smile on his face.

Voldemort stopped holding his penis and he looked at her, smiling strangely in that lipless mouth. He saw she had no pubic hair, in front of her vagina. This is because Narcissa likes to keep it shaved, as it makes her feel younger. She kind of missed her nubile innocence sometimes.

She shivered as she felt the Dark Lord cup a large hand on her shaved-v lips, it felt like a block of ice was on it. He took out his wand then. Narcissa felt her stomach cave in dread as to what he would do with it. As she knelt in front of him, he moved his wand in a flash. The thirteen-and-a-half inch wand, a wood of poisonous sap called yew, was inserted up Narcissa's vaginal canal, as far it could go, being a few inches.

As he did so, a river of blood came trickling out of her sex. "Master, I just started my menstruation again. A few hours ago. My stomach has been cramped. Perhaps we can do this another night?," explained Narcissa.

"Silence! We are not doing this another time. You say that again, and I will punish you horribly: as the alternative in the tower. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Master," said Narcissa wistfully.

And Voldemort returned his wand to his pocket. He had done an incantation to make her temporarily infertile.

Without warning, he pushed her back down on the bed with deliberate force, his hands pushing down on her shoulder blades, as he climbed on the high bed, looming on top of her, breathing heavily. He sounded like some kind of beast.

Note: This scene is only half-way done. He does much, much more to her, and not only to her and not purely sexual. It's amazing how I always come up with new ideas for how Voldemort would like to do it. I believe his strongest fetishes are mainly: himself and his wand and dick, snakes, fingers, toes, feet, fire. That is why he made her suck his toes. And also I read evil killers like Voldemort feel affinity to object like cloths and get a kick out of rubbing them.


	52. Don't Leave Me Now 5

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

Continuation of…

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now

Hungry in expression, Voldemort stared down at Narcissa fuming full of primitive aggression. He lunged weighing down on top of her. His mouth went between her breasts and suddenly his jaw swerved left and right, biting each of Narcissa's nipples. The little bite marks only added to the purple bruises surrounding the nipples, which was from wearing the crystal boob bracelets before. He went back to one of her purple-colored breasts, and started gnawing on it, chewing like it was a cow's cud.

It seemed like he was drinking from her breasts. He released his mouth from them after a few seconds, and then suddenly, delved his head down further passing her flat stomach. Unexpectedly, he spat into her inner-belly button, so that it filled with a little dribble of milk, the color of cream.

"Ah, Draco….Will be getting to go back to school. I never planned on barring him entrance to Hogwarts. It was just to get you to come more willingly, Narcissa. But it matters not now!" It might have also been a subconscious reason that Voldemort brought up Draco right then and there, because the belly-button is connected to the womb of motherhood.

The hands like large pale spiders went griping towards her vagina again, delving into the folds. He twirled his fingers in it rapidly, in haste. Withdrawing, the fingers he examined the tips, and was disgruntled to see they were dry. For clearly Narcissa had not masturbated for him.

But then his mouth was onto her vagina now, and he started slurping and sucking like a suction cup, into Narcissa's vagina, giving her oral sex. Since there was no masturbation, he seemed to be sucking up Narcissa's menstruation blood, using all of his lung capacity. It was a truly vulgar thing to do, and Voldemort was aware of it. Once he was done slurping so hard, forcing blood out, he came up for air, and looked at Narcissa. She saw her blood was dribbling down his chin.

"Ah, what sumptuous tasting of Pure-blood…Your bloody pussy is very sweet, Narcissa," he said sarcastically, feigning a compliment.

Voldemort laughed one hard high yelp that sounded like 'Ha!'. Then immediately, he pulled Narcissa up by the shoulder blades, form where he had been gripping her shoulders, pinning her down ever since he bit her nipples.

He flipped her back over on the stomach, laying her over him again, with Narcissa's head between his legs, near the huge, bursting crotch instead of at Lord Voldemort's feet now.

Suddenly she felt her legs raised up in the air above, and her head digging into the plush plain black covers.

"Suck it for me, Narcissa. You know what to do."

Narcissa obediently opened her mouth wide, until she found his cool, red-colored erect member. He meanwhile, had his hands on her legs. As she desperately tried to claw her teeth and all her mouth around his penis, he was licking her up the ass-hole. Voldemort decided to suck the little droplets of blood out of her anus, where there was now tiny little scabs from the feather insertion before.

And Voldemort stopped rimming her beautifully sculpted buttocks and instead listened. He could hear Narcissa sobbing as she took in choking breaths while she engorged on his dick filling her mouth.

"But this is not rape, Narcissa. Given your husband follows the Dark Lord, I therefore have ownership over you and your entire family."

And after speaking, Voldemort tipped Narcissa the other way around, and then faced her front from above. He pulled her feather-clad feet up to his shoulders and started entering rapidly into her vagina. He was hardly thrusting because he was sliding in and out before he could fully give it to her.

Narcissa thought of Lucius meanwhile, closing her eyes, trying to imagine it was him fucking her instead. This was a relatively normal sexual act she had done with him before, afterall. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to an orgasm inside, and suddenly, mindlessly she cried, "LUCIUS! LUCIUS! Come for me!"

It was done out of habit. And suddenly just before what could have been a sweet surrender of orgasm, she felt Voldemort's sexual wand sharply withdrawn.

Voldemort raised his other wand and snapped angrily, "Crucio!"

Narcissa screamed and screamed, every cell inside her was going to burst and Voldemort laughed with unabashed pleasure. That was more like it to him. He felt better for punishing her with a quick Crucio, when just as suddenly he removed the Curse.

And then Voldemort moved Lucius with a spell from his wand, levitating him right behind Narcissa.

"You will never scream for your husband when I am inside you….Now, sit on his face, Narcissa."

Narcissa sobbed again, and sat gingerly upon her husband's forehead, squatting, so as not to press her weight on him too much. Narcissa continued to cry, but stopped actually sobbing, instead her breath coming out in hyperventilating tirades.

"Sit down further, Narcissa. Make yourself comfortable," Voldemort taunted.

Narcissa was forced to stop squatting and from below she heard something crack. She had broken Lucius's nose. And Narcissa thought in misery, as she looked on at the Dark Lord for more instruction, 'Lucius please wake up! If you do, I know he'll stop. Oh, let a House-elf come...Anyone!'

Note: There is still more to come. Please review. I hope it is good enough. It is hard to write PWP.


	53. Don't Leave Me Now 6

Warning: Don't read if you're eating

Warning: Don't read if you're eating. This is very sick.

Would appreciate a review. I have not gotten a review for like five updates, come on. The story only has maybe 10,000 words left.

Continuation and final installment of….

Chapter Thirteen: Don't Leave Me Now

Narcissa continued to sit on Lucius's face as Voldemort looked on with the most cruel, amused expression on his flat, nose-less visage. She lowered her head, dipping it between her legs from despair, tears streaming down her face, falling into the space between her legs, pelting Lucius like raindrops. She could feel her wand in the pocket of her robes, still ripped from the back, but hanging on her still. She took out her wand with the unicorn core inside it, and whispered ardently, pointing below at Lucius, "Ennervate…Ennervate!" But her efforts were futile to revive him to consciousness, as it would not work against the Dream-less Sleep Potion.

In an instant, Voldemort made a motion with his wand and expelled from his mouth simultaneously a harsh growl as he used the Expelliarmus spell to disarm Narcissa. Her wand went clattering all the way across the room, landing somewhere on the floor, several feet from the bed.

He regarded her with the accurate instincts of his coldly evident on his face, watching her carefully. Then he put the heel of his hand to his chin, the fingers spread out, and his palm flat. He laughed like a maniac, as his forked tongue came out, in which there was a strange white spot on it. Out of his mouth came a burst of fire and with his hands he manipulated it to circle the four-poster bed. Roaring red and orange flames now encircled them, smoke rising to the ceiling. The room was ablaze with light and Narcissa screamed in terror, her eyes darting, but not moving her head. She wondered how much of their bedchamber would be ruined now.

Voldemort continued to scream in ecstasy, a look of maniacal joy on his face, the slit-like nostrils flaring, as he reached orgasm. He then commanded Narcissa, "Throw your head back, mouth opened."

Narcissa obeyed at once too frightened by his intensity to disagree. He leapt forward, and his huge dick was swaying in her face. He shot his ejaculation into her mouth, like a stream endlessly flowing. She choked as she continued to feel it swarm inside her.

She could feel the heat of the flames coming closer to the bed, when Voldemort suddenly waved his arms viciously above, apparently doing magic to prevent the fire from coming too close.

Then Voldemort looked back on Narcissa, and suddenly laid his foot on her face, which was still thrown back to look at the smoky ceiling. She got a scent, a scent of nothing, it was like cardboard. In fact, his whole body smelled surgically clean.

And then Narcissa, still trying to swallow all the cum, accidentally spat some of it.

"Crucio!" said Voldemort and she toppled off of her husband. Again screaming and crying, "MASTER! MASTER!"

And then, Voldemort put his hand to his face again, and laughing high and cold, his forked tongue with a spot on it came out again. Narcissa screamed in terror as the fire came out of Voldemort's lipless mouth again, and headed right for her face, and she tried to shield herself.

Until she felt his hands push her arms down and then a burst of surprisingly cool fire went through her mouth. It had been fire with a freeze-flame charm, preventing burns.

The great snake Nagini had been slithering on the bed. During the fire it had seeked refuge from the floor, motivated by her own survival. The snake was now slithering closer to Voldemort, and Narcissa distracted by the contained fire around their bed, enclosing them in a wall of orange and red flames, had not noticed the snake before. It had a funny smell as it slithered over to Voldemort on the bed.

Voldemort in Parseltongue hissed "Nagini…Come across my shoulders,".

Voldemort let the tip of Nagini's head rest under his chin, seemingly as if he had done this many times before. A moment later and the scent exuding from the snake became stronger and Nagini raised her tail from behind Voldemort. It was a pleasure signal.

"Slither down, my pet…" said Voldemort in a tender voice of affection, but still in Parseltongue. It was a way of speaking he held for no other but Nagini.

The snake was suddenly wrapped around the backside of Voldemort, at the point where waste and fluid comes out of a snake like Nagini is.

"Get ready, Narcissa. It's your privilege to have the snake inside you," said Voldemort to Narcissa.

The snake arched it's head at Narcissa as if she knew, and then slithered closer to Narcissa, as Voldemort bent down, grabbing Narcissa closer to him so that the three of them were sandwiched together.

And then the snake was maneuvering its belly into Narcissa's vagina, and she felt it throbbing inside her. At the very same moment, the snake was fucking Voldemort anally, in a position outside Narcissa's view. For the snake had two sexual organs for penetratration.

"Oh, My Lord! Master!" Narcissa cried in terror.

But in a bizarre realization, Narcissa noticed Voldemort did not respond his red eyes were actually empty. It seemed he wasn't in his body, and this thought completely galvanized Narcissa emotionally.

He actually possessed the snake, and he was the one controlling all the sexual contortions that the snake was making. So at once, Voldemort fucked his own ass and Narcissa's vagina through the snake. Voldemort's mind was fully present though.

Narcissa continued to quiver, "My Lord! My Lord!"

The snake had its head resting on her chest between her boobs. It reared up and snapped its jaw at her. It had been Voldemort being the snake.

He continued to enjoy the pleasurable sensations for minutes. Until he released Nagini from himself, telling the serpent as he possessed her to remove herself and so Voldemort returned to his own body and extinguished the fire with a spell from his wand, water pouring all around the outskirts of the bed from the agaumenti charm.

The snake slithered off the floor and Narcissa, now sweating and still hyperventilating sat up in relief. Narcissa suddenly screamed in terror. The Snake had excreted all over the floor, a little pile of gray waste like bits of clay all molded into one. The snake had finished digesting some of the remains of Rufus Scrimgeour's corpse.

And Voldemort did not bother with Narcissa now, but held his wand in his hand stroking it, and apparently filled with some sort of fetish for his wand. He grabbed Lucius and undid the robes, until Lucius's cock sprung out. With the exact spell "erecto", Voldemort made Lucius's dick stick up. It was like Lucius had had a magical erection, yet it was not an erection, for no blood filled the cock.

And then he looked on at Narcissa and said, "You shall not see what I do to your husband."

And Voldemort jerked his wand at Narcissa's face. She felt something like a bang inside her skull, and she was knocked out, unconscious.

Voldemort still stroking his wand now went toward Lucius. He seemed to compare the length of his wand to Lucius's dick for a moment. He tipped his wand inside of Lucius's penis somehow. He muttered a strange incantation. Voldemort had made Lucius infertile. The Dark Lord had sterilized him, so that he could never make children for Narcissa ever again. And what was more, Lucius would never be able to know it was Voldemort who had done this. Voldemort felt he was removing one of his political threats, for he must continue to subdue Lucius's power, and therefore he viewed Lucius as a political opponent.

He then got off the bed, and went towards Nagini in the same corner, sleeping again. He saw the snake excrement all over the place and decided to use the Evanesco spell to clear it up. But then he had another idea. With his wand, he somehow plastered some of the snake feces onto Lucius's erect dick.

Then he looked at Narcissa. He decided to stick his wand into her vaginal canal again, thinking of sterilizing her as well. But then decided against it. She was a Pure-blood woman afterall, and eventually he could force Lucius and Narcissa to divorce and Narcissa could make more Pure-blood wizards and witches with somebody else. That was his place, actually. For his secret reason for even wanting to take Narcissa to bed had greater ambitions. It was all part of the idea to eventually force them to divorce, and part of it had also meant sterilizing Lucius, albeit unwittingly.

Still his Yew wand was in her vagina again. Voldemort suddenly ripped off the last remains of the silk-white negligee robe Narcissa had been wearing. Then Voldemort removed his wand, and saw his wand dripping a large blood clot of Narcissa's menstruation off it. Voldemort had another idea. He stuck the wand back up her canal, and made all the blood flow out of Narcissa. It was draining right out of her uterus, and as it was removed Voldemort manipulated the flowing blood with magic, getting it all to stick to her skin. He laughed at the irony of a Pure-blood woman dressed literally in her Pure-blood from head to toe.

Then he levitated her body, directly over her husband. Next he conjured chains, so that she would stay levitated to the bedposts longer. He took her mouth in his hands, and stuck Narcissa's tongue out. He had made the distance so that the tip of Narcissa's tongue was parallel to tasting the tip of Lucius's cock, covered in the gray feces.

He did not feel the need to modify her memory. He would let her remember everything she had seen. He looked at the hideous sight, Narcissa chained to the bedposts, arms and legs spread wide, her tongue lolling out stupidly, looking like she had been brutally murdered, covered in blood, her own menstruation. 'She looked like a dead whore, who needed a taste of Malfoy's dirty penis, was Voldemort's thoughts.

And at this hideous sight, Voldemort's skull felt like it would crack, as he filled with glee, laughter at the hideous sight, his mouth wide and the forked tongue coming out again.

And Voldemort left the Malfoy couple, walking easily out of the bedroom, in which he passed the furniture. All of it was badly charred, black, sooty, and ugly now. 

Note: Horrifying? Disgusting. I wonder how I came up with that. Waiting for the angry reviews of people who wanted a sweet lovely Voldemort/Narcissa bed scene. Ha Ha. Or maybe a happy review? Please.


	54. Wish You Were Here

NOTE: This is extremely challenging territory, as for what the Malfoys are going through is extreme

NOTE: This is extremely challenging territory, as for what the Malfoys are going through is extreme. Just remember Lucius's plate (and these are only the worst bits):  
His real wand is wrecked, his house taken over by LV, his house getting trashed at the party, the prank Draco played (which he heard of), Bella recently raping him, his wife slapping him and angry at him during the night before the party, LV threatening not to let Draco return to Hogwarts AND finally Voldemort fucking Narcissa.

Chapter Fourteen: Wish You Were Here

It was less than a half-hour after Voldemort abandoned the master bedchamber that Lucius awakened to find himself in an awkward situation. A look of blinding terror slowly dawned on his face. His gray eyes hardened to resembling inlaid stones. It was as if he himself had been blasted by the Avada Kedavra, which leaves the eyes opened wide. For the first thing he saw when he opened his cold, steelly gray eyes, was his beloved wife, hanging over him quite possibly dead. It certainly looked that way, most of her naked body was covered in a thin veil of blood, her eyes closed, lost and unaware, where he could see her chained above him to the four posts of the huge bed.

After a few shocking glances at the nightmarish image, Lucius jumped on the bed, flopping like a fish at the sight, and a piercing grieving scream rent the air. "NARCISSA! NARCISSA!"

He leapt from the bed and like a coward backed away from the hideous sight in denial. His hands went to his face, fingers spread, shaking his hands uncontrollably. He was truly on the verge of losing his sanity.

And then all at once he felt a piercing pain on his face, which he ignored for the moment. Lucius had a feeble memory of the wand in his pimp cane, which was still lying on the bed. His one last hope for some kind of autonomy, he went for it, suddenly intrepid. Wrenching the wand out of the black, serpent tipped cane, he waved it at Narcissa and said his voice breaking, "Ennervate. Ennervate."

Apparently it worked, for her azure blue eyes opened, and not knowing what had happened to her in the last moments of Voldemort's domination of her, she became terrified. Screams rent the air of agonized terror, as she lay prone in the air, chains wrapped around all four limbs, and she could smell the blood on her skin. Then there was a bad taste in her mouth, something foul and decrepit. It was Nagini's excrement, of course. Narcissa screams sounded like knives were piercing her, and naturally, she vomited all over the bedcovers.

Lucius's face, that was sagging before, seemed to get some resolve back as he saw his wife awakened, screamng, but alive. But then at once it went back, to a toughened look of rage in his features. Before he could attend to his wife, he had the selfish desire to take in the surroundings first, for it smelled like there had been a fire. Lucius surveyed it all angry and bewildered, turning on his heels, now taking the big picture in, recalling everything.

His breaths came out in fumes of rage, as he surveyed the badly charred furniture. But as he looked at it, he remembered the strange drink, he had drunk, that had made him pass out. He wondered how that had gotten there. But for now he had more pressing matters at hand: dealing with his wife, whom it enraged him had been with the Dark Lord, instead of him, and she was the real reason for this mess!

Narcissa, in these moments stopped vomiting. She got a look around, and spotted her husband and rasped like somebody Lucius had never heard before, "Lucius! Lucius! Get me out of this! Let me down! Let me down!"

But Lucius was becoming grounded in the whole situation and his part in it, and it was enraging him like never had anything angered him in his life. Coming to his senses more, he could feel the sharp pain in his nose and realized it was broken. He aimed his wand at himself and struggled, for he was in a hangover from drinking, which was making it difficult to think and remember the spell.

After a few seconds he remembered, "Episkey." He felt a hot sensation as the bones repaired and then he felt an icy coolness in the ligaments, cartilege, etc.

Narcissa had stopped screaming, but was still begging to be released.

And now, Lucius finally did so, without a thought. Using the simple counter-spell, the chains uncoiled and she plumetted safely onto the bed, landing on top of the ripped erotic dressrobes.

"What happened to make our master bedchamber transform into an utterly destroyed disaster, during your sexual interlude?," demanded Lucius in a snarl, now coming closer, his wand still in his hand.

Narcissa seemed to gather herself up, and then with great effort sat up, and slid off the bed, leaving behind some of the blood soaked to her naked skin.

"I don't know, Lucius!," lied Narcissa. And she sobbed, and without looking at him, ran from him.

Lucius watched her run away and voiced furiously, "Narcissa! This is the damn bed I took your virginity in and now that pleasant memory is gone, replaced by this hideous insult. I shall never live up to this!"

And Lucius, wand still in his hand, threw his pimp cane down on the floor, and went striding to where Narcissa had stole off to.

She went through one of the hanging tapestries and into the large bathroom, in which everything was made of marble. Thankfully, this area of the chamber had not been harmed by the fire. Lucius ripped the tapestry up, and went in. Steam was rising and water was running, Narcissa was at the unconcealed, shower.

Lucius could see the water, clearing off all the blood that was plastered on her lily-white skin. He watched for a moment in disgusted revulsion. He decided he would take a quick shower as well, and he looked down to unfasten his robes, to see that they were slightly parted, opened up towards his pelvis. He had not noticed his dick was visible and erect, and what was more, covered in some kind of fetid substance.

"Arrgh!," Lucius growled in a rage, and his fingers went for his black and silver dressrobes rapidly unfastening them. At this, Narcissa looked up briefly from her srubbing and then resumed. He then, took off his underclothes, which served as underwear, and his boots.

He went over to Narcissa in the shower, who was not paying him the slightest attention to him anymore, but busy lathering all kinds of gels and fragranted soaps into her skin. Strangely, she was doing it roughly, as if trying to remove a disease.

He stepped into the small enclosure and at once pulled on Narcissa's silverly blonde hair, flecked with grays at the scalp. She was bending over to scrub at the ankles, and at Lucius's harsh touch, she dropped the bar of soap.

She knelt facing him, his hands on her hair, still arching her head back, as he stood over her, both of them inside the shower. "Lucius! I feel so dirty. Let me clean myself and then we'll…then we'll talk it over!," she said agitated.

"We're going to start talking now and we'll be covertly conversing about this for the rest of our lives. I want to know everything!…." And then pointing at his dick, no longer erect he imploded, "Where did this SHIT come from?!"

Narcissa sputtered struggling to figure it out, for she had not seen Voldemort use magic to smear Nagini's excrement onto his penis. She had seen the snake excrete onto their floor though.

Narcissa peered up at Lucius strickened more than sickened by the sight, believing she could not come up with an answer. "I don't know! I don't know! The D-Dark L-Lord rendered me unconscious Lucius!"

"Don't lie to me!," snarled Lucius, contempt in every syllable of the words. "I know you whored with him fully conscious. I know his ways...He probably went tearing through your mind without your knowledge, through his Legilimency powers. Didn't he?! Now, why in the name of Merlin is on me?!"

"For the same reason there was blood on me! I don't know! And I shall not think about it. The whole thing is too horrible to reminise over. And yet, I remember everything.…Everything until he told me…He told me, " you shall not see what I do to your husband"…That was what he said!…Yet I refuse to think about it!"

Lucius looked impatient and furiously at her, and he quipped, "Then tell me what it tastes of and we'll go from there!"

And Narcissa still knelt before her husband's feet, one hand in her hair, had his cock invading her mouth instantly, jerked in.

Narcissa did not suck on Lucius cock, but let it sit there, as she garbled something incoherent, as the water gurgled in the background.

Lucius continued to immserse his cock into her mouth, and then suddenly released. "Let me help you wash off the blood dear!," he said viciously.

And at once, he aimed his member for her, and peeed all over Narcissa, creating a golden shower. Lucius did it to substitute in his mind what Voldemort had done to her, what with finding her body drenched in blood, Narcissa's own Pure-blood.

Narcissa had never seen such cruelty on this scale before in her husband. Although there had been many physical fights and duels throughout the years. She had been hoping he would have the courage and manhood to comfort her after being raped by Voldemort, but no.

"Lucius! Stop. Why are you doing this to me?," Narcissa cried. She pressed herself into the marble wall, sinking back onto the floor, sobbing loudly now.

Lucius did not answer, but grabbed his wife, by the shoulders and in a rush, began to tear at his wife sexually. He was so aggressive it was frightening. She felt him steer her into the water, and began immersing his large shaft up her vagina, throbbing in and out for several moments. After that, he turned her around, and throbbed in and out from behind, smacking his balls into her with frightening force, as Narcissa continued to wail in misery.

Note: There is about four scenes left of the Malfoys fight. Bella/Draco/Voldemort still have a part in the story. And Voldemort will be having sex with Bella, in a very interesting way (not as drawn-out as Narcissa's go, but interesting nonetheless). Please review if your reading. I really appreciate it a lot!


	55. Wish You Were Here 2

Continuation of…

Continuation of….

Chapter Fourteen: Wish You Were Here

Minutes later an icy silence precipitated between Lucius and Narcissa as they stepped out of the unenclosed shower, next to their jacuzzi.

They stood in the bathroom in front of the several green marble sinks, in which there was no mirrors, bur rather vintage demonic masks hauntingly staring. There was a concealed mirror in the bathroom, which could only be revealed by a charm. But it was a rare occasion, that neither Lucius nor Narcissa wanted to look in a mirror.

Lucius grabbed a white linen towel from the rack nearby, and was kind enough to hand one to his wife, who rapidly began tusseling it with great force over her skin.

Once Narcissa was wrapped tightly in one of the towels, and Lucius had another one around his waist, he said, "We'll go to the balcony to talk. I want to be sure the gardens weren't destroyed, unlike everything else!"

Narcissa nodded stiffly. She agreed with him on this point. They went out a tapestry concealing the bathroom, and through the bedroom. Recrossing the master bedroom, they could smell the awful stench from the fire, it was like burnt toast, and they saw a pile of snake excrement still on the floor, as big as several bucketfuls. As Lucius past, he jabbed his wand saying, "Evanesco. Evanesco. Evanesco," and his father's wand finally obeyed his command and the last remnants of what had once been Scrimgeour's body disappeared.

Around the other side, Lucius opened the impressive glass doors, leading to an even more impressive private balcony with a view of the placid lake. The lake was situated next to the several acres of his forrestry plot.

Lucius peered down, and surmised that at least the gardens looked unharmed by the massive crowds.

Narcissa came over to his side, and surmised it was okay as well. It was a miracle that you couldn't tell by looking how over seven hundred muggles were slaughtered on that very area of Malfoy manor.  
And then Narcissa, looked up at the estern sky, towards her left, away from the forrest. She saw the orange glow disk shoot up, and the dawn was created, a red fireball of light, which caused the lake opposite it to glitter in the newfound dazzle. It was just after five thirty in the morning on a Sunday.

But then, as if intentionally, clouds were swirling in from the north and the west. The day became gloomy at once, and the smell of a forthcoming rainstorm hit the air with a pungent rancid smell. And simultaneously at the same moment, like roosters clucking at the crack of dawn, the five Veelas, whether in bird or human form, could be heard screaming in the tower, located near the lake. Yet the tower could not be seen from the balcony. The veela woke up screaming today just as they did every day, reminded of the horrible reality of their life.

And Lucius after surmising the rest of the property with one more relieved glance, confirming that he still had an enormous accumulation of land, suddenly was covering his face with his elbow.

"What is the matter, Lucius?," said Narcissa coldly, in response this strange behavior.

Lucius swayed a little on the spot and muttered, "It must be that weird drink on your dresser!"

"I saw a spilled potion on my dresser. That didn't make you drunk and I did not put it there!," screamed Narcissa. She was now very offended that Lucius would accuse her of this, as she presumed it was an accusation.

"Did I say it was your fault? No!," said Lucius coming on to Narcissa, sneering down and into her face.

"I'm glad to hear you can believe your own wife's testimony. And considering what happened to you, Lucius, I believe it was a dreamless sleep potion…," Narcissa paused and Lucius seemed to be struggling to figure out who put the potion there and for whom it was originally intended for. He did not have a chance to speak what was on his mind, for Narcissa sputtered, "Now, the Dark Lord, I am certain it was not he who did that to you, if only because he was so surprised to find you past out on our bed…."

"Evidently, he wasn't too shocked by it, Narcissa. Look at how he left us after, after he had you for himself. Could he have possibly thought of a better reason to degrade us privately? No...I thought, I thought things would be improving, we did manage him a grand celebration. Perhaps he appreciated it?"

Lucius still wrapped in his towel, resembling a shirt-less house-elf, came closer to Narcissa. And in response to the query, Narcissa laughed one cold gutteral note, a strange sound to come from her. She said cynically, "I cannot believe my eyes! Listen to you! You are so blind. How could you not foresee this? Draco remains in danger, even if he is bestowed the privilege of his education... And I am forever ridiculed and you, you aren't getting anything from this either, Lucius! He is the Dark Lord. I never thought I'd hear myself say it, but you are a fool. My husband - a brazen fool, the greatest fool in the Death Eaters! He is using you for nothing more than his own ends. NOT to espouse Pure-blood ideology, no…I have learned that he only pretends to care for it."

Lucius still wrapped in a towel, resembling very much a shirt-less male house-elf, came even closer to Narcissa, "Narcissa, I refuse to believe it that way. There is still hope to be found from his praise."

"You sound like my sister. You know it's not true Lucius. Forget his favour! Don't lie to yourself anymore. Aren't you embarrassed at the awful events last night? Everybody knows what I was asked to do with him," she whined.

Narcissa took a step backwards, as Lucius came closer. He was finally irate. She took another step back instinctively, hitting the rail of the balcony, which her hands clung to convulsively from behind.

"Do you think I like this? Do you bloody think I like this?," Lucius yelled, in an insane boom of shouts.

Narcissa did not answer for a moment, and Lucius asked the same thing again. Lucius's head was aching from the hang-over, making it hard to think, anymore than a continuous rant of questions like, "Do you think I wanted it this way?" and such.

"No. But you act like a fool," said Narcissa defiantly.

She felt Lucius shove his fist into one of her azure-blue eyes. She crumpled onto the floor, against the railing, now covering her own eyes from the sunlight.

She did not have the strength to stand but remained on the floor.

But somehow she managed to offer placating speech, "We can't stop the Dark Lord...He creates pain. More and more pain is all he knows. There is no way for us to contain his power, Lucius. I urge you listen to my reasons. My words have wisdom," she finished, arguing with a gentle desperation.

"Of course we can't stop him. Contain him? We want to expand him to greater and more terrible heights. What wisdom is that I hear? I have known that truth, his appeal for his own powers all along. And so, I always risked lowering myself, but only before the Dark Lord, of course. For I understand things I do...I understand what he wants from us as well…," groaned Lucius, and he sounded bitter, but much calmer than his wild outburst a moment ago.

"Though I cannot deny he has taken much from me lately. It feels like I am to be a prisoner in my own home. I will not be a prisoner in my home,!" he roared the last sentence. "Sometimes, I want to leave, but I know...you will be killed in his anger and so will our son. Draco means nothing to the Dark Lord, but a pawn…."

Narcissa wailed, tears coming out of her eyes, staggering upward, standing again in nothing but the towel, feeling like a House-elf as she wailed, "We're not free. Look how he left me chained to the bedposts. That is because we are his slaves. I don't - don't deserve this vile treatment! We don't deserve any of this!"

"Slaves? Don't call us that, Narcissa. For Merlin's fucking sake, I said there is still the chance we'll return to his favour. And everything, everything in this world is meaningless, until I get his respect back. That's part of the reason I auctioned last night. Our stuff is meaningless now, and so, to be safe, I am exchanging things for gold. We must keep our assets safe. I am afraid the economy is not going to flourish thorough another Wizarding war. I'm looking at this from the long-term investment."

Narcissa now had her turn to rage and be over dramatic, "Our stuff! What did you sell? Oh, Lucius!"

And Narcissa ran pattering barefoot, with one black-eye, tightly wrapped in the towel, hair swinging behind her. She made a bee-line for the dresser, with all her jeweled boxes. She started ransacking them open, finding them all nearly empty. Lucius turned away from the increasingly gloomy view of the balcony,

Narcissa threw open all the boxes, until they were all lieing strewn on the floor, empty of the jewelry she used to wear. "Hundreds of years of my mother's and my grandmother's and maternal ancestor's things, practically stolen from me! I hate you Lucius!," she screamed in selfish fury.

And then she saw beside her dresser, something else she had not noticed. "Oh, and look at my fwooper he – he's gone," Narcissa said, more softly. Beside the dresser, was a bird's cage, with a perch inside, but there was no bird. Just a pile of ashes where a body should have been, like phoenix that would never rise. The fwooper was obviously killed in the fire. Lucius looked around the room, and noticed that at least the bed he had taken her virginity in, along with the mural behind the bed, remained untarnished from the flames.

Narcissa screamed, feeling like she was a little girl in need of a temper tantrum. Lucius swaggered over to the dresser and surveyed his face in the mirror, scrutinizing it. He had remembered again how funny his nose was feeling.

"My nose. The bridge has a bent. How is that? How did that happen, Narcissa?," he demanded sharply, as if sure she would know.

"Your nose... Nobody will notice the tiniest bent of your nose, you arrogant vain bastard!," said Narcissa cruelly sarcastic.

And she went ransacking through her drawers, frantically searching for something she would want to wear.

But Lucius was furious himself again, he grabbed Narcissa's neck, standing behind her, and stuck the tip of his wand at her throat. "Don't talk to me like that, my disobedient wife. Remember, I have ownership over you, you are one of the last few things I've got left, and you're mine to either comfort, hurt, or I can kill you…"

"Lucius! You wouldn't dare...," said Narcissa. And she got up the courage to add, "Besides the Dark Lord can take me to bed whenever he pleases. I'm not all yours. Get used to it. You were never all mine either, for you remain attached to him forever!"

They had not heard it, in all there shouting until now. Someone had been knocking on the door. And now they were banging on it.

About to tell the person to enter, they didn't, for they already had. Bellatrix stood on the threshold, looking as glamorous and as mean as ever, a nasty, conniving curiousity in her expression as she eyed them shrewdly.

"Not fighting are we? Yes, the Dark Lord told me to expect it." And Lucius and Narcissa trembled with fear at the high-pitched sweetness, the pleasure exuding from Bellatrix's mouth.

Note: I will update again sooner. Sorry, but I needed a break from this story. and I'm afraid I don't have the dynamics cut out right. This is all just too much for my mind to wrap around.


	56. Wish You Were Here 3

Continuation and final installment of…

Continuation and final installment of…

Chapter Thirteen: Wish You Were Here

Bellatrix came closer into the room, wrapping herself around a gigantic black cape that covered her completely.

Lucius had released his grip over the back of Narcissa's neck, and Narcissa turned around at once, remembering her wand. She was relieved to see it intact upon the floor, and she went to pick it up, still feeling threatened by her husband.

"Now, now, I didn't come in here to break up your silly brawl. I wouldn't worry Lucius, the furniture will be restored. It must be! For remember, this is really the Dark Lord's bedchamber. He told me he is not ready to retire. I will go find the house-elfs and tell them what to do!"

"Bellatrix, that won't be necessary. I ordered them to restore the broken busts first….," said Lucius almost politely.

But Bellatrix shook her head. "This room needs to be fixed as soon as possible. We don't wish to share ourselves in a war-zone."

"We?," said Narcissa with a lofty haughtiness.

"The Dark Lord!," snapped Bella, as if her desire for him and for her to share a bed should be the most obvious thing in the world.

"For the last time, Bellatrix, you don't give orders in my house!," boomed Lucius.

But Bellatrix just ignored her brother-in-law, and she flounced on the bed, and then patted the side. "Come Cissy, sit next to me."

Narcissa hesitated looking forlornly at Lucius, and then went to sit beside her sister at the foot of the bed. Lucius just shifted on his heels, crossing his arms.

"Now, Narcissa. Time for the details for your old sister here. How was it last night, if you remember?"

"Yes, I do remember it, Bella," said Narcissa sweetly, however it was constraining her irritation.

Bellatrix just blinked and then her face morphed into a fake smile as she feigned sympathy, "Aw…It must have been hard on you? Was he rough?"

Narcissa did not know what to say, for she didn't want to talk about it. Showing her anger, she sneered, "Well, of course. Look at this room, Bella, he demolished my bedroom!"

From all this Bellatrix, had of course deduced that Lucius might have somehow taken the dreamless sleep potion instead.

Bellatrix had not misheard her sister's tone, and now her exterior looked dangerous again, as her eyes lit up, "You understand Cissy, that I am the real queen. The queen for our Lord that is. Like my newest robes?"

And Bellatrix shot up off the bed, and swirled histrionically, the black cape twirling off her shoulders. She was wearing absolutely nothing except for high-heeled sandals, and lining the insides and outsides of her thighs was a line of spikes, drilled into strips of leather that lined her outer thighs. They could not see her chest as she had not unpinned the clasp of the cape.

Narcissa suddenly could not believe her eyes, she saw her husband dart towards Bellatrix, grabbing her long dark curly hair from the back, and then he was kissing her sister.

Bellatrix was resisting his grip and she pulled her mouth off his, until she shot a glimpse of Narcissa looking horrified frozen in shock, completely immobile. And Bellatrix smiled at Narcissa's look, and she looked back at Lucius and returned his move for another passionate kiss. They each made out madly, making loud smacking noises, each to make the same person, Narcissa jealous, and each for their own reasons.

And there was a sound of tramping feet, Narcissa turned her head still reposing at the foot of the bed to see Draco enter the room, calling, "Mother, I-"

She watched her son's face fall from eager concern to a dismal gray colour as he witnessed his father kiss his aunt.

At Draco's voice, Lucius lost all want of Bellatrix, as he released his hands from the crown of Bellatrix's head where he had been gripping the headdress crowning her.

"Draco…This is not as it looks," he forced himself to murmur and then added livdly, "Couldn't you have allowed us a chance to settle things before you barge in?"

Draco glared at his father and scoffed darkly, "Settle things between who? Is that between Aunt Bella or my mother?!"

"I meant your mother of course!," Lucius retorted, furious Draco could even imply he was unsure.

Draco did not take a step closer, but remained near the door, as he looked now at his mother, his face showing true concern.

"Mother? Greyback wasn't lieing then, was he? I had to see for myself. This truth is terrible….," and Draco looked around the bedchamber at the destroyed furniture and décor.

Lucius looked towards his son and said meanly, "Yes, Draco. It was I who told our useful little werewolf friend what the Dark Lord was making her do."

Narcissa shrilled, "You Lucius! My own husband? My own husband, the reason my reputation suffers so!"

"Yes, Narcissa. Your dear husband," said Lucius acting charming, and he stepped closer to the foot of the bed, where Narcissa sat, twirling her wand in her lap.

"But why father?," said Draco with a hollow emptiness.

"I shall not discuss it with you, Draco. Go!"

Draco remained where he was, until Lucius screamed threatingly, "GET OUT!"

And Draco, a bit frightened of his father, turned and ran.

Narcissa stood up and appraised Lucius coldly, raising both brows. "Our son asks good questions. So why did you wish to confide in a werewolf?"

Making the name sound important, Lucius corrected, "Fenrir Greyback."

"Oh, don't think I want to hear of another famous name you're in contact with."

"Quiet, Narcissa. And let a man speak, for Merlin's sake. I only confided in Greyback because we do relate on some level. Until recently that is...Greyback's always been singled out and can't even get the Mark, and I-I'm losing it all."

Narcissa shook her head, "Lucius, you know I never supported your involvement with that –that Greyback."

He did not answer and Narcissa knew she could never persuade her husband not to associate with someone he thought was useful. She decided to add consolingly, "And if you need someone to talk to, go to me not that-that monster! And Lucius we're not losing it all…we still have - we have our money and property...including the house!"

"Yes, a house we can't exercise independent sovereignty over," Lucius couldn't help but spit out bitterly. "My little flower," he finally offered reconciliation, brushing the bangs out of her eyes, where one eye was black and blue from his blow before. "I will never do that to you. I'll never hurt you again. Never," said Lucius and his voice was growing sweeter and sweeter.

Bellatrix meanwhile was watching shocked and muntinous, full of confusion. For only a moment ago Lucius had kissed her to make Narcissa jealous and now he was making up to Narcissa?!

"Yes. Never again would you strike me or curse me, Lucius…" said Narcissa sarcastically. They had been through these fights so many times before and he always swore he would never abuse her again, but she knew different.

However, she reached for his hand and held it, squeezing it and enjoying the warmth of his affection course through her.

Lucius steadied himself and took Narcissa's wand, and his own out, studying them. "Narcissa…There is only one solution to this all, really. I will go right now and do it, for it will make up everything that he did to you, to us. I must – I must TRY to fight the Dark Lord. Knowing at least that I'll die trying. I will duel him!"

Lucius jumped when he heard an insane scream of laughter behind him.

"Duel the Dark Lord? You dare contemplate to?! You – the pathetic man who's wand is destroyed. But even if it weren't, you could never come out alive, fighting - fighting the greatest wizard of the age!"

And Bellatrix cackled again.

And Narcissa said with tears in her eyes, "Lucius! Please don't. It will only make things worse. Maybe he wouldn't kill you, but it will only make everything worse. I beg you not to do it. No! I won't let you!"

And Narcissa shook with terror.

Lucius was pacing across the floor, his footsteps sounding heavily, full of energy, primed for a good fight. He glared furiously at Bellatrix's smug face jeering at him.

"No…I won't…I can't…," forced out Lucius sounding exhausted, and finally all the fight gone out of him, he slumped onto the bed, laying down and looking as if he had already tried and was defeated, for the better part of him knew he certainly would be.

Narcissa looked at her sister, who was still smiling awfully. "Oh, Bella! Leave us in peace. Please!"

"Yes, I shall go attend to the Dark Lord…," said Bellatrix and she left the bedchamber quietly, the long cape swirling behind her, and in a whoosh she turned the corner and was gone.

Meanwhile, Draco had not stopped running since he left his parent's old bedroom. As he ran out of the house now, he past by dozens of House-elves working from ladders on the main staircase, attempting to repair the broken busts of hundreds of Malfoys.

He ran down the stairs, and opened the door and went for the gardens on the side of the property. He continued to run as if he never, ever wanted to look back. The weather was gloomy, it was raining hard as Draco tore through the raindrops, hardly noticing them.

He did not stop until he got near the fairy bushes and a a stone park bench and some beautiful flowered trees.

He stopped at the tree, panting, and holding the trunk as if it was the safe place for tag. He looked towards his left up at the cloudy sky. He could see a little slither of a moon rising, in the fog. He gulped at its ghostly presence, it seemed to be confirming all his fears, his awful terror.

Draco gulped again, and large tears welled in his gray eyes. The tears trickled onto his pointy features, and at once he wiped it away with the sleeve of the lime-green and gold edged dressrobes. He had not changed or even slept, for he had been too worried about his mother.

Draco looked the other way, as he turned to sit down, and he could see the shadowy outlines of dementors. Yet he was so miserable the dementors were not attracted to him for there was no happy emotions for them to be drawn to.

He sat down reluctantly on the bench, and shifted his weight gingerly. His backside was still very sore from Snape caning him last night. He heard a clap of thunder as he listened to the rainstorm, pounding into the earth, soaking it.

He listened to it as it seemed to lull him into a trance, as he stared out at the lake. He could see the property was flooding, soon there would practically be a moat around the huge palace, a moat to imprison him even more.

Draco's thoughts went off into the past. How he remembered father when he was a little boy. His first memory was of his father. Draco briefly glanced at the dull cloud-filled sky and remembered another time and place. When life had been beautiful and sunny. He was three years old and he was with father on an Abraxan horse, flying into a gorgeous gleaming sun. He missed those times, when everything had seemed nice.

Now what was it? Reality was a nightmare! 'A nightmare' he thought. And Draco looked out at the lake, just beyond the short line of fairy-bushes. He seriously contemplated going into the lake right now and drowning himself. 'wouldn't it be better if I could just end it now? Could I die, could I kill myself? What would it be like to drown?,' he thought.

And Draco remained there for a long time, just thinking, lost in deep misery at his life. Somehow his thoughts came to Potter, and thoughts of that Harry Potter and his friends both annoyed him and comforted him. At least there was someone out there who could stop it, before he ended it for himself first!

NOTE: THERE is only one more, yes one more update left! However, I will be adding dozens of new parts to the chapters, just to let you know. What is really creepy is I imagined it would be raining and flooding at the end of this story...After I imagined this, I decided to check what the weather was in Wiltshire, England. In August 1997, there was indeed flooding in Wiltshire. Now that is creepy!


	57. New Moon of Darkness

Bellatrix had stolenVoldemort's cape and was wearing it, he admonishes her for thi and calls her a "Silly witch"

Chapter Fourteen: New Moon of Darkness

The new moon remained in the western sky, seemingly winking at Malfoy Manor, even after nearly a couple of hours had passed and the storm continued. Bellatrix approached the padlock door of the study Voldemort was inhabiting, with her wand she aimed it at the door's side, at the hinges, until light streamed through and it was unlocked. She pushed it open, as it heaved forward. She stood in the study in the erotic clothing she had assembled to impress him, as she was so desperately in the mood for closeness. Yet the high heels and spikes were like a dominatrix.

She caught her breath, as her dark brown eyes darted around, until she spotted him and then rested her heavily lidded eyes upon her. Bellatrix's face frowned feeling a surge of jealously. For there was Voldemort, lost in thought, as he sat on a high-backed chair. Bellatrix could not bare to see one hand stroking absentmindedly the snout of the snake and with his right hand; he fingered his wand, the long fingers shaking.

He did sense her presence though, and without looking, she saw him beckon her, but with reluctance, the long yew wand signaling to come forward.

Bellatrix came forward to where Voldemort was seated, unwavering in her gaze. She knelt at his feet, the huge black cape swirling around her, and folding at her ankles, only her head sticking up, until she meekly lowered her head, when his eyes narrowed down to get a look at her.

A few seconds past and then Voldemort's face contorted, amusement curling at the corners of his mouth. He lightly admonished, "Why Bella, you stole an article of clothing? The cape is mine…"

Bellatrix actually giggled gleefully and peered at him. Voldemort did not laugh, which Bellatrix found strange. He seemed to be considering what to do with her for a moment. Bellatrix just shone with adoration of him. It was like she was his little daughter and she was caught wearing daddy's clothes.

"Silly little witch…," he finally meted out, and he looked at her with minimal esteem.

At these words, Bellatrix's face screwed up, face flushing and mouth parting. She was not pleased to be referred to in such a lowly way. She looked to see the snake still resting across Voldemort's shoulders, and she wrinkled her nose in disapproval, jealous fury mounting to see the large white hand continuing it's caress of the snake's snout. She eyed Nagini beadily.

Voldemort saw what she was thinking, but ignored it.

He eyed her testily and said, "Now, Bella…there is no more lying to your master, however indirectly you chose to deceive me. For I know very well, as I saw it in your sister's vulnerable mind and I of course, am more than capable of deducing whom you meant for procuring it…It was you who made a Dreamless Sleep Potion, was it not?"

Bellatrix gulped and looked suddenly truly saddened but not all abashed by her conniving motive. "Yes, Master…" And sounding like her usual self, she asked, "You seek to punish me?"

And at this query, she looked up at him now, pouting her dangerous red lips, and fluttering the spidery curled eyelashes.

"Master, I was wrong to keep from-"

But Voldemort held up a large white hand. He considered Bellatrix for a moment that felt like eternity, as she waited for his judgment to fall.

"My wanton thing…No. No, wanton thing," and being referred to deliberately as a thing, Bellatrix, raised one thick brow, startled. She found it odd, unnerving even to be called only as a "thing," a "wanton thing."

"However, I desire a good shag…," said Voldemort with a casual air, a casualness he would never reveal, except to his closest Death Eaters. Immediately, Bellatrix edged even closer before him.

A calculating expression past on the snake-like face. And then his old, almost deadened hands undid the space between his legs, parting the robes. Bellatrix's head rose eagerly like a serpent rearing itself, and as this happened, Nagini slid from Voldemort's shoulders, no longer being touched like she wanted to be. Nagini slid past Bellatrix on the hard floor, cocking its head curiously.

Bellatrix then licked her lips in anticipation as the snake slid away from her and the Dark Lord. She saw the well-endowed cock of the Heir of Slytherin spring out, and her face fell, disappointed.

"Did that start because of Cissy, My lord?" she asked in a feeble little voice, no longer willing.

And her dark eyes stared at his bloody member, in which the erection had lasted a prolonged period.

Voldemort smirked meanly. "I shall keep you guessing on that score, Bella…

"Has Lucius finished squabbling with his wife like the spoiled scoundrel he is?"

Bellatrix burst with churlish intonation, "Yes – Yes – Yes." She did not want to talk about it. All Bellatrix wanted was him to be inside her, but only if the erection would go.

She looked back at the space between his legs at the exposed robes, a lugubrious countenance upon her. Voldemort leaned back, and waited expectantly, knowing he should not need to even ask, he had certainly implied it to her.

But the moments tore on as Bellatrix hesitated, her face growing pained, a pain so severe she looked agonized like she was being subjected to the Cruciatus. She could not throw away her pride and suck what Narcissa had so clearly just had, for she must have a unique experience, just for herself.

She heard Voldemort sigh irritably and shift his weight. For Lord Voldemort did not like to be denied what he wants, and those things, which Voldemort was denied, Voldemort must get.

"My Lord…Master! I-I Offer my blood. Take my blood first and I will be happy to have you just as you are. Take me for my blood!" she wailed. It was really for the subconscious reason that Bellatrix was worried being Pure-blood was no longer satisfying Voldemort, and perhaps Narcissa had replaced him as his most desirable. At least Bellatrix believed she was meant to be Voldemort's prime sexual prospect.

Voldemort's nostrils flared and he lurched, deeply annoyed, "Since when can one negotiate with Lord Voldemort?"

She responded in an out of control rant, "Oh, but Master I cannot!...My blood, my blood, have me for my blood!" She said again, squirming in Voldemort's cape. She was in a much worse, much crazier frame of mind than she had been last night when she offered her blood on the altar.

She looked at him desperately and could see he was still refusing this bargain. Her thighs were spread out in kneeling position, and she pulled herself backward like a woman in labor, her vagina displayed for him, head on the hard floor. And Bellatrix squeezed her thighs together, the short spikes pierced her skin, meshing them together, and they clinked like miniature swords. It was an agonizing sensation, and macabre with the blood oozing onto the cape.

"My lord…here is my blood. Taste my sweet, Pure-blood and then have my pussy and I will be happy!" she cried pathetically.

Voldemort almost rose, finally irate and his knuckles whitened convulsively over the armrests to restrain his rage. He actually raised his voice, yelling in a sneer, "Do it! Unless you wish to be Crucioed. In which case, you will never have me inside you! Your choice…"

Bellatrix was a heap on the ground now, curled up in a little black ball like an unloved kitten, but she had heard his words. She finally rose upward again, issuing dry sobs and panting in her desperate desire for him, her eyes cold and tearless.

She looked like a rose, a black treacherous one the spikes like the thorns, the blood streaming down her thighs, staining her and taking what was left of her glamour.

She looked at him mournfully for another second, as she struggled to prie her legs apart, the flesh making ripping and tearing sounds.

Then she sucked with rabid eagerness. Between breaths she panted, like she was releasing a flowery fragrance on her breath. Bellatrix felt revitalized. She felt better, desirable once again.

Her hands flew everywhere on Voldemort, petting him as she moaned like crazy, savouring the satiable sensation of the Dark Lord's fertile meat inside her. Obsessively loving him, she was petting him everywhere her hands could go, and she soon forgot why his dick was erect.

Yet he could feel her affectionate touch and he did not like it, not at all. He finally pushed her hands away from his, he did not need her touch to fulfill him, just the act would be enough. She continued staring at him, at those cold red-eyes glinting in the pale, mask-like face. She believed he was thinking of her, but she did not know he was concerned with anything but her welfare.

He could still feel her affectionate touch, or rather to him, it was hands grappling and he did not like it. She looked at him almost the entire time he sucked, as his eyes looked beyond her, at the view in the window.

He could not stand his hands on her anymore, with a wave of his wand still in his right hand, her arms flapped up above her head towards the headdress, and searing flames entwined the wrists. Her hand remained tied above her, the flames giving her minor burns.

He continued to allow her to suck for another minute, now he himself could enjoy it much more. Bellatrix's head buried into Voldemort's lap, and now she was practically groveling at his feet.

Voldemort rose and in a soft hiss said, "Enough of that for now…" Bellatrix instantly rose to stand, ready for his next instruction.

She wanted to drink more of his cum, and she didn't want to swallow her last bit. She decided something different, and her tall frame arched backwards to kiss the Dark Lord and she would let him get a taste of himself.

Her dangerous red lips were an inch from impacting his liplesss mouth, when she saw him turn on his heel, and he did not look at her, but she could see he was disgusted.

Bellatrix forced herself to swallow, gulping. She said somberly, "My Lord, I was to fill your mouth with your seed."

He shook his head deliberately and Bellatrix looked disappointed again. She was upset that she couldn't snog him, and she had never gotten to.

Her knees shook, as she stood before him, ready to beg again. But as she opened her mouth to start, he waved his wand, and the cape plummeted, landing around her sandaled feet.

A look of surprise came across Voldemort's face, and then quickly turned to a hungry look.

"Master, I duplicated the Dark Mark", boasted Bellatrix. And showing off, she twisted her torso left and right. She had branded a copy of the Dark Mark onto her breasts with a spell during the wee hours of the morning. There was no longer any nipples, just skulls each chewing a serpent's tail, the serpents each wrapping all around both boobs.

She flashed the new tattoo again, and it gleamed silver in the meager light of the study, the scarification on it was obvious, for Bellatrix had to remove some of her flesh for it to stick.

Voldemort's face twisted, the jaw expanded in a wide arc, almost like a smile, and his hands outstretched towards her breasts, eyes lit up. In an instant, he had his hands, one on each breast. Bellatrix screamed with masochistic delight, her boobs burning from the scars, as it was a duplicated copy of a Dark Mark, and it was now a burning bright red as if he was summoning her.

He released his grip and Bellatrix screamed in a trill, brown eyes bulging from the sockets, "Oh! Oh, again, Master! Touch me! Touch me!"

But Voldemort just laughed a hollow echo that died down into a hiss. He waved his wand and she was hurtled forwards, and was suddenly hanging levitated, upside down.

Looking cruel, like he was putting a naughty child in the corner he maneuvered her frame to the wall. At once, he transfigured a spiked collar to her neck, and then a spiked leash, and with a spell he stuck the leash into the floor.

"Why listen to Snape and his collaring idea?," she screeched, objecting to this. "I do not trust him, My Lord…I-I don't take his advice."

Voldemort grabbed a fistful of her curly black locks, her hair now like a messy mat, for her head was nestled against the floor at the wall.

"Hush, Bella. Forget Severus. Snape. You who spent all those years in Azkaban for me…," he placated to her, but very manipulative all the same.

He heard Bellatrix whimper as his strong hands pulled on the roots of her hair. He rode into the anus of her creamy, yet dry skin of her buttocks. It was painful, because Voldemort had used an isolated Crucio on her anus just last night.

"You were punished last night…Yes, but remember Bella, you are always most welcome…and most worthy," he said as if a compliment.

The sound of the word punishment, instantly excited Bellatrix and she felt herself bridge a gap between normalcy and ecstasy, reaching orgasm.

But Voldemort was purposefully choosing not to punish her, understanding this would teach her what he demanded, no true intimacy, no closeness, of which he knew she so pined for with him. And in the process, this was giving her a much harsher punishment, without her knowledge of it!

So he released his enormous erect cock from her sore, scabbed anus, just as she was about to reach orgasm, well aware he was denying her this pleasure. This was to be a punishment after all, and as he released, Bellatrix panted in wretches, just missing out on getting to scream with pleasure.

She started to murmur like a mantra, "More, Master! More Master! More, Master!"

Lazily, he raised his wand and gagged her with a Silencio charm, in which there was a choking noise, and at the same moment with the force emanating from his hand, she fell into a heap upon the floor. He had removed the levitation charm.

And at once, Voldemort turned away from her, looking to the view from the window. He left her collared and leashed, in flame shackles hand-cuffed. Bellatrix finally felt resigned to the fact that she would never get the true intimacy with him that she craved.

He was tired of playing with that toy, and he moved on, throwing open the windowed door. The circular diamond panes were not sparkling like they used to, for it was incredibly dark outside, especially dark for daytime.

He emerged into the atmosphere, standing on the balcony, barefoot, the rain had briefly ceased and it was oddly quiet, as if the storm was waiting to stir again. He took a confident step forward and spread his hands, dismissing a flock of carrion birds. They had visited in hopes of attaining more flesh to eat, as if they instinctively knew where to go to get more from last night's mass execution.

The Dark Lord kept his arms outstretched, robes whipping in the sultry breeze, the edges swirling at his bare ankles. Voldemort was like a primordial god, and he felt empowered, comfortable in his instinctive, animalistic self.

The clouds were ebbing away, forming a partition for Voldemort to see the risen crescent moon, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, the light pulsating, but unilluminated. The world was overcast in a light, a light of darkness that seemed impossible, but was existing. He could hear the distant rumbling of thunder, echoing over the hills at the horizon. If there was lightning, it was obstructed by sooty-looking clouds in an ambiguous fog from the dementors breeding. It was so shadowy; the clouds were black shadows, for droves of dementors were circling behind the clouds.

Voldemort basked in the darkness, arms wide, and he inhaled deeply. The air was electrified with power, parched from the thunderstorm so that he could smell it.

Because it was so dark outside, the moonlight reflected into the room creating a darkroom of shadows. Nagini broke free shedding layers of skin, regenerating herself, like she represented the new age upon him and everyone. A backwards grandfather clock, was just inside, behind him now, the hands upside down. It was like signifying time had stopped, the pendulum did not swing, but remained strangely upwards, anywhere but where it should be. And Bellatrix, why she was just a heap like dung in the background and all she could see was patches of the moonlight playing on the floor.

But the figure outside on the balcony stood, in control of their mind, although dark and perhaps insane, he maintained stability and control. His power was absolute, finally and he knew it. The serpentine face that looked to have not seen sunlight for years immersed itself in the glorious darkness. Voldemort's eyes were the only clear lights, in a mind full of plans, just as it ever was. The grandiose megalomania would never cease. He had an empire, and it was rising. He envisioned his eternal reign, forever. He could never be destroyed. And Bellatrix remained panting in Voldemort's immense shadow; she would be in his shadow for the rest of her mortal life.

Because it could only be him – only him. So alone. He must always operate alone.

The darkroom of the study was behind him, and the eyes like coals burning, fixated towards the moon, the dark plans in his mind, and eclipsed everything into an eclipse of darkness. For all those of the so-called light, they would black out at there ineptitude's, for his magical prowess was much more than their weaknesses.

'There is no dark side of magic, it's all dark,' he thought feeling righteous and stronger than he ever had before and he remembered, "Magic is Might". He never felt stronger, and strong, strong because he was alone, his hands in fists, arms outstretched, as he gazed straight ahead at the balcony, just as he looked at the very same balcony at the sunset, the night before his coup. And he now looked to the unilluminated moon. He remained forever unwavering in his determination. Then it had been the end of an era; now, now it was only a start. The start of an age of eternal darkness.

And immutably for Lord Voldemort, seeing through right to his death – All was dark.

I was planning it to end with "All was dark" for months. I did not realize until tonight that this contrasts with DH ending with "All was well." Well for Voldemort that wasn't true, his fate is rather the opposite, something along the lines of "All was dark."

So what do you think "The Midsummer Coup" as a whole, now that I got through the plot?? I'm wondering if anyone noticed the natural motifs that run throughout, I did not do this on purpose: there is a great deal of motifs of the moon, sun, stars, and the heavens.


End file.
